#more quickly than other art :pensive:

[joshnekuu]

Me: As long as I pace myself with drawing the CGs, I think my game should be ready by March : )

The godawful shitty little devil in my brain: hey no one will pay money for your game if you use the default RPGMaker sprites, you need to make your own tilesets and a new base for your sprites

Me: oh shit you're right

[pedgito]

summary | a story of how things began, where they ended up, and where they might go. a collection of patrols over the course of several months is forcing you closer to joel than you ever imagined, tense circumstances leading to hasty decisions and one bad choice after the next. [17k+]

pairing | joel miller x fem!reader

content warning | 18+ content, as always: no explicit use of y/n, set post s1 (but not specifically stated), lots of characters from the game (but not significant if you're unaware) grumpy!joel, friends (?) with benefits, sex under stress as a means for distraction (consensual), graphic depicition of an attack of raiders (it's brief, easy to skim over), a litany of sexual escapades (oral, unprotected, ect) semi-public sex (no one's around), orgasm denial, repressed emotions

author’s note | um, yeah. i had this idea back in february and had an outline that finally came to fruition over the past month. this was a serious labor of love and purely self-indulgence. if you make it through the entire thing, thank you! if this has typos please ignore. i proofread this like 4 times and i will cry

↝ other fics | requests? | ao3

Patrolling with Joel was always something. Miserable when Joel was having a bad day, mildly enjoyable on the days where he managed to have enough coffee that morning when you weren't on the rotation for the shitty patrols that took hours to trek through in this weather, the snow halfway up your shins nearly everywhere.

It’s been a few months now and Joel is still who you favor going with over anyone else—he’s thoughtful, methodical, always watching over his shoulder for danger. And Joel does warm up to you eventually, but the reluctance in his eyes is always there. He’s seasoned in the art of surviving, avoiding connection when at all possible. He doesn’t talk to you for the first month out of simple answers or orders, helping you get accustomed to a route you haven’t run before, but small talk? It’s nonexistent.

Maybe that was for the best. 

Because the first time you find yourself pinned under his gaze, fingers clenched around your wrists in warning, the unseemly thoughts invade your brain.

He doesn’t sleep often during patrols, either. So, it’s a little intimidating when you find him curled up on top of his sleeping bag when he swore he was taking a quick break, resting the ache in his back that quickly melted into a deep slumber. You can’t dare to wake him up so soon after, seeing how peaceful he looked when he slept, almost at ease but still carrying that deep scowl, permanently on his features. It was a part of him.

Tommy and Jesse had arrived to rotate and relieve you guys back to Jackson, something that wasn’t out of the norm, but you find yourself battling with leaning over him, shaking him awake and disturbing his slumber. And on a dime, the moment your hand connects with his shoulder, Joel is awake—very awake and subduing you with little resistance, your leg forced hastily between his own, eyes dark and pensive from where he held himself above you.

“Joel, Joel—it’s just me,” You spit out in a panic, “Tommy and Jesse, they’re outside.”

You’re not sure what breaks his stupor, be it the panic in your voice or the terrified look on your face, he relents quickly, apologizing half-heartedly under his breath.

You release a tight breath when he finally lets go, rising up slowly as he does, grabbing your pack without a word, as does he, watching as he rolled up his sleeping bag, something you’ve seen him do a million times before, but he feels you watching him, almost hesitant to speak now.

“Did I hurt you?” He asks lowly, the thickness of sleep in his voice.

“No, um—“ You shake your head, rubbing the skin of your wrist absently, “I guess I should’ve been more careful, but you fell asleep and I figured you needed it.”

He looks even more apologetic, more so for his actions but for also leaving you up alone, not that it really mattered to you. It was an easy patrol spot in the watchtower— it never caused trouble, so falling asleep was the least of your worries. 

You shrug when his eyes glance over your slightly hunched frame, shivering from the cold but an arm clutching around your middle. It’s defensive, a subconscious movement that Joel doesn’t even think you realize you’re doing.

He shouldn’t feel shitty about it, but he does. Still, he won’t admit that out loud.

“Next time I’ll keep six feet and poke you with a stick,” You joke, “kinda like waking a bear.”

You smile when Joel huffs reluctantly, a subtle motion of his chest as he chuckles. It’s faint, but you see the involuntary quirk at the corner of his mouth as he shoved his sleeping bag into his pack and rose to his feet.

“Hey, you’ve still got decent reflexes,” You shrug, passing him by with the soft scuffle of your feet, shoulders rubbing against each other awkwardly as you turn toward him over your left shoulder, his body too close for his own comfort, “for an old guy.”

He scoffs at the implication, though any maliciousness in his expression is void, “Old?”

He knows it’s the truth, he just hates the implication. He’s weaker, but not any less that man he was than that he is now. He watches your face scrunch up in amusement, a soft laugh slipping past your lips. 

“Joel, I’m fucking with you,” You tell him, the tense in his brow relaxing slightly, “it’s gonna be a long ride back, isn’t it?”

“Ah, don’t know—think you can handle travelin’ with the old guy for a few hours?”

Joel doesn’t divert to humor often, but when he does, it’s a sweet sight, that rough exterior cracking under your gaze more often. 

“Please,” You puff your lips out in a quick huff, yanking your back over your shoulder, “I can handle you just fine.”

Once you got to know him, it was actually quite easy.

Joel nods his chin forward silently, ignoring your teasing for the time being, a long ride ahead of you and not nearly enough patience on his end to deal with your antics.

And you try to ignore how intensely his touch lingered on your skin, rubbing the tender spot on your wrist during the long ride back to Jackson. 

Joel keeps his distance behind you, but he sees it—the subtle look over your shoulder every now and then, your eyes lingering with him when he forces eye contact.

It’s only the start of what was to come, something neither of you were prepared for.

*

The rotation is adequately simple over the first few months, keeping the pairings fair by filtering them out evenly—Ellie is fun to be around, a lot more relaxed and less jaded by everything. She keeps things light, always bringing along her comics for extra entertainment or spending her time drawing you or whatever she could find, something to keep her busy when things get boring. And she talks, freely, to you—something Joel never did. Besides, Ellie kept up to date on the town drama, so in turn, so did you. 

And Tommy is, well, Tommy. He’s efficient, likes to do his rounds, sign the patrol sheet, scope the area, then spend the rest of the night or day relaxing away when things aren't going awry. He talks about before—his job, how people lived in Austin, the summer cookouts in the neighborhoods that you were never privy to. Tommy’s nice, you’ve always liked him. It was Joel who proved to be the difficult one, something Tommy would wholeheartedly agree with.

Eventually you find yourself paired up with Joel more often than you’re used to, now Ellie would stick to patrols with Dina when she could, occasionally Jesse. She always complains when she has to ride with Joel, something about:

“We live together, but we’re not attached at the fuckin’ hip.”

Joel doesn’t complain, his hesitancy toward letting Ellie take more responsibility waning by the day when he realizes how well she holds her own.

You take the patrol further west, a lodge that he and Tommy cleared out some months prior when you were still new—you’ve only ran into infected there once, end of the summer, but Joel cleared them out no problem. 

It seemed like an easy patrol. It was. Joel even seems a little more cheerful than usual, making comments to some of the information you were relaying to him that Ellie told you, some pointless gossip to fill the lull.

“It’s why I mind my business,” Joel speaks over the soft trollop as you ride alongside him, “nothin’ good comes from stickin’ your nose where you shouldn’t,” his head turns, eyes glancing over your frame briefly, shrugging his shoulders in an effort to loosen them, “it only breeds more problems.”

“I’m just the messenger,” You shrug, “I keep to myself—you know that.”

He does. He finds the shyness endearing in a way, a contrast from how exuberant Ellie could be when he spent patrols with her. It’s why things worked so well with you—you respected his space, he respected yours. 

“Remind me to check that guitar place for those strings Ellie’s been buggin’ about,” Joel tells you, “I’ll hit it before we leave.”

“She’s improved a lot,” You compliment, a faint smile tugging at his lips, “props to her teacher, I suppose.”

Joel shakes his head, emitting a bit of fondness every time he talks about Ellie, “That kid is determined. I don’t think she would’ve needed my help either way.”

“You know,” Your tone bleeds something teasing, putting Joel on edge as he tilts his head your way, looking expectantly, “she said you’re a pretty good singer.”

Joel opens his mouth for a beat before snapping it shut, shaking his head in disbelief.

“Don’t worry, I won’t ask you to sing,” You promise, “but—I don’t know, just didn’t pin you as the type.”

“I’ve got a type about me?” Joel seems dully interested, a soft smirk on his face as he yields the reins to a stop, leading you to follow suit as you both guide the horses to the makeshift stable tucked away on the side of the building, gathering your things before you make your way inside.

You leave Joel in a curious silence until you’re able to relax, closing the doors behind you with a heavy shove once Joel has done his quick walk-through, the fireplace setting unlit in the middle of the room looking all too appealing right now. 

“Look, I’ll just keep askin’,” Joel says, clapping his hands together deftly to grab your attention, throwing the lighter stuffed into your coat pocket at his waiting hands, cupped as he catches it with ease, setting up a fire that crackles to life instantly, “first I’m an old man, now you’re judgin’ me, doesn’t really seem fair now does it?”

It’s the most he’s talked to you before, suddenly invested in getting an answer out of you. It’s playful, his intention, and you can’t help but find it a little enjoyable to watch him squirm. You take a seat around the circular fire pit, feet propped up against the brick surrounding it, hands laying flat over you stomach, jacket unzipped but still snug on your body.

“You’re a big grump all the time,” You tell him honestly, his face morphing into something indecipherable, “—Ellie’s words, not mine.”

You hold a finger up, pointing in his direction.

“But, she’s not wrong.” It earns a subtle shrug, Joel’s arms stalling over the back of the couch that wrapped around the fire pit, a few feet away from you still. “I’m just saying, most of the people in town who enjoy that stuff—you know, music and all that. They’re loud about it, a little showboaty if you ask me.”

“What? I’m not loud enough for you?” 

He was loud when he needed to be. Directive and strong, aggressive to anyone who may cause him harm or anyone he cares about—you’ve seen it a few times, but never on the side of it being just you and him. Part of you is thankful for that, but you can’t help the wanted to feel that type of fierce protection aimed toward you.

You snort softly, “Forget it, Joel. It’s a nice surprise, I bet you have a great voice.” It’s free of any teasing or ill-intent of riling him up. A true compliment, one that cracks Joel’s surface, just barely.

Joel hits you softly in the chest with a bag of jerky a while later, chewing on a piece quietly as he rests, neck hung against the back of the couch, eyes closed. The heat creeps in slowly, forcing you to strip down a few layers—jacket first, then your sweater, down to just your jeans and shirt, wiggling your feet out of your snow boots in hopes that they’ll dry by the fire quicker. 

And truthfully, your bored out of your mind. It was hard to stay dormant like this, holed up in a place for an extended period of time with nothing to do but entertain yourself—and because Joel was about as entertaining as watching wet paint dry, you took the initiative into your own hands.

“Have you ever played pool?” Your voice slices through the thick silence, one of Joel’s eyes peeking open curiously, head still reclined back. “I’ve been dying to try this out since Tommy found those balls a few months ago.”

“It’s been years,” He mumbles lowly, tapping his fingers against the back of his right palm, “—what about you?”

“Not a chance, Joel,” You reply, voice oozing with a flippant vagrancy, “I was fifteen when the outbreak happened, I’ve never even stepped foot into a bar, let alone some place like this.”

Even now, twenty years into a world that had crumbled to the ground, the lodge still held up nice.

Normally you would expect Joel to make up some excuse, roll over on his side or lay down and pretend he was asleep or keep watch by the door, his demeanor never faltering for more than a second, clipped answers to your question. But, that was Joel wasn’t here now.

He’s warmed up to you, partially—but you could tell there was still a long way to go. He still keeps his distance, less of a chance to bump into your or accidentally brush shoulders. It makes you feel forlorn, like maybe you had scared him by how you reacted, eyes wide and terrified underneath him. 

Truthfully, Joel doesn’t want to scare you again. He couldn’t handle it. Not with how reluctantly fond he’s grown of you, something he kept close to his chest and didn’t dare tell a soul. He’s got his own justifications for it. 

“We can play a game,” Joel suggests, “it’ll kill some time, I guess.”

Joel didn’t need to know how easy it would be for you to play him under the table, having spent most of your time around the guys at the bar who like to hustle bets for pool. They never stood a chance. And Joel never frequented The Tipsy Bison outside of parties thrown for the community as a group (and that was still rare), always dragged along by Ellie or Tommy. They were insufferable to attend. 

You could share the sentiment. 

“Any bets?” You tease, stripping the pool cues off the wall and handing it to him as he approaches, strip down to a similar state as well, tanned skinned under a navy blue shirt, wearing the jeans he seemed to never take off and boots that were barely holding on. 

“That doesn’t seem fair,” Joel decides, “I’ve got nothin’ in mind anyways.”

“God, you’re no fun,” You pout, pulling an eye roll from Joel, his eyes flicking toward the ground briefly as he reconsidered, “come on—anything.”

“Jesus—uh, I don’t know,” He chews on his bottom lip thoughtfully, “huh, how about the loser just owes the other a favor?”

You blow a raspberry with your tongue, “Lame,” You tease further, but his quick switch to defeat has his arm slumping at his side forcing you to reassess, “—fine, fine. A favor is fair, I’m running low on those anyways.”

It’s a small hint at your competitive nature, something Joel is clueless to pick up on, guiding you through the basics of the game with ease—you listen intently despite how badly you were going to destroy him, the stakes surprisingly high.

A favor. For anything. 

The small crack of a smile on Joel’s face is enough of a reward as he watches you attempt to break the set, barely tapping the center as it rolls back slowly, your face scrunching up in annoyance. 

“Oh, fuck you,” You scoff playfully, “you’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”

Joel shakes his head in a blatant attempt at lying, heaving his cue up to show you his stance, “Keep your dominant hand on the end and your other near the type, you’ve just gotta guide it through with some force.”

You feign innocence, switching the cue to your dominant side, though still looking visibly uncomfortable and rigid. 

Joel thinks it over in his hand, rehashing his decision making a million times over until he’s resting the pool cue aside and joining your side, hesitant as he brings his hands to your elbows from behind, keeping a careful distance.

“Keep your arm a little further back,” He pulls at your dominant arm, thick fingers wrapping around your bicep, his body leaned forward slightly to adjust the other when he can’t reach, spreading your fingers to wrap around the other end, tucking your thumb under the cue gently at wrapping your index over the top, “it’s almost like you’re holding a pencil, if that helps. Sort of.”

You nod slightly, his touch lingering lightly as he leaned over you, pointing toward the center of the table, “Just use that hand as a guide, don’t grip it too tight and let the cue follow through. Here, try it.”

He crowds you in slowly, aiding you in the force of your cue as he guides it back and through with a sharpness, hitting the ball dead center and the rest of them scattering as a result.

“Just like that.” He praises, a softness to him that wasn’t there before when speaks over your shoulder. You roll your shoulders insignificantly, nodding at his response.

He notes how unbothered you are this way, in this situation compared to the latter, his touch guiding and soft compared to rough, suffocating, the force he only used in situations where his opponent wasn’t going to make it out alive.

Joel parts without so much as a word, shifting into his typical stance, favoring his right leg as it bends slightly, using the cue for support as he leaned into it. “Got it?”

You nod silently, feeling warm all over, too warm. It’s your own fault, really—not a soul to blame but yourself. To be fair, you didn’t think Joel would bother to take the bait. But he did, almost too eagerly. It was enough to mentally knock you on your ass, leaving you to play the rest of the game with a cloudy mind filled with how warm his touch felt against your bare skin, craving a touch you haven’t felt in months. It’s pathetic, but you can’t help it. 

Joel sinks the last ball with finality, slapping his hand against the felt table in triumph, a surprising show of emotion for someone so sullen as him. He was full of surprises you were quickly finding out.

“M’sorry, darlin’.” He tells you, sounding authentically apologetic, “I don’t expect you to owe me any favors.”

“Screw that,” You shake your head stubbornly, annoyed at how easily you let him get the better of you, “one more.”

“I’m not sure if that’s—“

“One. More.” You tell him adamantly, reracking the balls without an answer, nodding pointedly toward the table, “Pick a pocket.”

Joel’s eyebrow furrowed in confusion, “You want to play one-pocket? How the hell do you even know about—I thought you said you’ve never played.”

“Joel, pick a damn pocket.” 

You don’t choke this time, letting him take the first hit, watch the ball sink, and the next one he misses. 

You don’t miss, one turn after the other passing him up as you sink them in succession.

He stares at you with wide eyes, nose flared like he’s going to laugh, mouth spread into a subtle smile, his teeth peeking through.

“You’re a fuckin’ pool shark, aren’t you?” Joel questions, tossing the pool cue aside. “That was goddamn impressive, I’ll give you that.”

“How do you think I score the steak sandwiches for our routes over the tuna and cheese?” You ask redundantly, “I’ve played Tommy under the table enough times that he won’t even play for fun anymore.”

“Well,” Joel shrugs, “guess we both owe each other favors, don’t we?”

You could care less about the favors now, battling with the conflicting feelings as you stared at the man ahead of you, seeming like a completely different person to you now. He's acting nothing like the sulky man you walk by every day in Jackson.

“Shit—one more,” Joel insists, “no holdin’ back on each other. No bets, just braggin’ rights.”

Joel never hears the end of it that night, falling asleep to the faint giggle of victory.

Another few weeks later and things are even more different. 

You spot Joel from a mile away, tucked against the corner of the bar with wistful eyes downturned toward his drink, the ice in the glass swashing alongside the dark whiskey. The squeal of a couple kids and their scattering feet as they ram into you and pull your attention away, guiding them away to safety and out of the crowd with a gentle hand, a pair of apologetic parents waiting off to the side.

He must’ve seen the interaction halfway through, smirking with amusement as you approach, though still eerily silent. 

Your friendship since the pool game has blossomed slowly, he jokes with you more often, shares his food when he hears your stomach growl, no matter how much you refuse. He even talks about his hobbies, things he enjoys, and it feels like he’s less of an enigma now. Real, tangible, someone you can make a connection with.

He still keeps his distance, mostly—the pool game was a fluke, a split second decision he hadn’t thought through and fully regretted after the fact. He’s gone from tackling you to the ground in fear to feeling you up for a good shot and that just doesn’t sit right with him, but he never apologizes. He can’t find it in him to embarrass himself further, figuring that by getting his ass kicked at pool was already punishment enough.

But, it doesn’t help that he always finds himself in situations that end up with him closer than he intended—he can’t tell if you’re being intentional about it anymore, but tonight, it’s all you.

“Damn, who dragged you out of the house?” You ask, a huff of a laugh muffled by the glass that tips to his lips, your fingers drumming silently against the bar as you asked for a beer, smiling at a familiar face. “Wait, let me guess—Ellie?”

Joel shakes his head honestly.

“Shit—Tommy?”

“No.”

“Maria forced Tommy to force you to show up?” Joel actually has a laugh at that, the idea not that far-fetched, but it’s another wrong answer.

“Joel Miller—“ Your finger wags in his face, landing on the center of his chest as you sip from your own drink with your opposite hand, “did you actually wander out of your house on your own free will?”

Guilty as charged. Joel would never make decisions like this, but he knew you would be there—and goddamnit, he couldn’t help it. He’s dressed incredibly suave too, a clean, slick dress shirt that works well on him, a nice change from his usual thick coats and plaid button ups. 

“Hey, brother,” Tommy claps a hand down on Joel’s shoulder warmly, flashing you his trademark grin, teeth and all, “ma’am.”

You grimace at the word, “God, Tommy—you gotta stop calling me that.”

“Sorry, habit.” He chuckles before glancing over at Joel briefly, eyes connecting with yours in question, “So, what are we thinkin’—hell finally freeze over?”

“Seems that way.” 

You play along, teasing Joel with no reluctance, enjoying the pinched look on his face as he downs the whiskey.

“Well, sorry Joel, but I came to steal her away for a dance,” He informs Joel, jabbing his thumb in your direction, “it is tradition, after all.”

Joel didn’t know that, of course. How could he?

Tommy always takes a minute or two to dance with you, one of his favorite songs being played by the band of townspeople—Maria doesn’t enjoy dancing as much either, spending most of her time mingling and helping out where it was needed, it’s an easy compromise. 

It’s an upbeat song, something country that you can’t be bothered to memorize the words of, but it’s all big twists and twirls, dancing with little precision and more for pure enjoyment than anything else.

Joel tries not to stare, he does. But, it’s nearly impossible. It starts at your face, lingering as he savored that huge smile plastered across it, arm flying above your head as Tommy spun you, squealing in joy. Eventually it travels elsewhere, lower and lower, until Joel can’t help but keep his gaze stuck on the curve of your jeans, the way the denim cups your ass perfectly. 

And it feels wrong, almost demeaning, but you don’t seem to have a care in the world, turning on your heels and to Joel suddenly, who’s already straightened up by then and shoving his glass away, poised to make his excuse to leave until you’re bounding toward him, hand outstretched as Tommy watches from the side, hands settled on his hips. He’s got a shit-eating grin on his face, knowing exactly what was about to happen.

“Come on, Joel.” You try to persuade, using a grabby motion with your hands as you approach him closer, bordering on shoving yourself between the bar top and his legs, “Just one dance.”

“Darlin’ I don’t—“ His refusal is imminent, obvious in your eyes. But, you’ve got a trick up your sleeve that he’d never hear the end of if he denied you. 

“My favor,” You play your cards, “I’m cashing’ in.”

You cock your head to the side, awaiting his answer with a pointed look, satisfied smile creeping onto your face as he sighs, letting you take his hand in reluctance as you pull him to your feet.

Joel’s at least thankful the tempo of the song is slower, but that leads to a minacious closeness he wasn’t prepared for, your delicate set of fingers resting over his shoulder, the other slack in his hand. He settles one against your waist, touching cautiously light and his other hand enveloping your own.

“This is a waste of a favor, you know.” Joel comments off-handedly, his eyes dragging toward the floor as he swayed to the gentleness of the music, dancing with an ease that still stuck with him, even after all these years.

“I don’t think so,” You shrug, “I get a dance, you’re no longer in debt to me, seems like a win win.”

Joel shakes his head with a fondness, eyes flicking up toward you briefly as he bows his head, his grip tightening ever so slightly as he seems to relax, realizing that the only eyes on him were you now, Tommy having gone off to search for Maria.

“All these other guys and you want to dance with the old man,” Joel starts, “how’d you come to that decision?”

“You’re never letting that go,” You roll your eyes half-heartedly, pulling him in closer on a whim, trading your current position for one where your arms rest of his shoulders, fingers interlocking behind his neck loosely, his own hands adjusting against your hip more casually, fingers dancing over the sliver of bare skin from where your shirt had started to rise, “can I tell you a secret, Joel?”

“It’s not a secret if you tell me,” He counters slyly, “besides, I’m terrible at keeping ‘em.”

And blame it on the lingering remnants of his second whiskey, but you can feel his fingers drag against your skin, finding home under the fabric of your shirt, his expression never changing—but it feels like a test, like he’s waiting for you to have a reaction. There’s not a word traded during the subtle interaction, ignoring his actions as you spoke.

“I’d choose you over any of those guys,” You say, a rawness that bleeds truth, Joel doesn’t have to second guess you, he sees it, “and Seth is way older than you and a prick, give yourself some fuckin’ credit, Joel.”

Joel settles quietly, shaking his head at your soft outburst. It shouldn’t surprise him, your shared devotion having grown over the past few weeks, small moments that made Joel second guess everything he’s taught himself to be.

Distant, hard, cold. But with you, it just wasn’t possible anymore. At least, not lately. 

“And,” You sing, wiggling excitedly under his grip, “I may have saved your ass for patrol tomorrow.”

Joel looks at you expectantly, pulling you in closer when a quick pass of two rowdy kids has you stumbling forward. 

You laugh at the sudden change in motion, hands slapping against his chest to keep you steady. He doesn’t try and move you away, which is surprising. But, you don’t try to move either, enjoying the slow guide of your chest against his as you sway to the music.

“Tommy’s takin’ coverage with Eugene,” You tell him, “I know how much you hate patrolling with him.”

Joel huffs out a laugh, “I don’t hate him, he’s just—“

“Talkative? A little too cheery for you?” You ask, leaning your head back an inch to examine his face fully, “Damn, I guess I’m not much of an improvement, either.”

“Now, I didn’t say that.” Joel responds defensively, though his face is still relaxed.

“Then?” You tease.

“Let me ask you,” Joel switches things around, “You’d rather patrol with Tommy over me?”

You shrug before thinking about it for a moment, actually thinking—and no, you wouldn’t. “No, guess not.”

“Why?” He questions, putting you on the spot.

“You’re prettier to look at,” You say with a nonchalance, “and Tommy really likes to reminisce, like…a lot.”

Joel snorts a quiet laugh at that.

“So, you see my issue with Eugene then.” Joel brings the conversation to a head, watching as a smirk appears on your face, realizing his mistake in real time.

“Hold on— that’s why you enjoy our patrols so much?” You turn your head into your shoulder to hide your laugh, quickly gathering yourself to tease him further, “Because, I’m prettier to look at and I keep my mouth shut?”

Joel shakes his head in amusement, ignoring your question. “You do realize where we’re going tomorrow, don’t you?”

“Of course, we’re stationed out at the dam.” You respond casually, “It’s not that bad, Joel.”

It’s the one place you and Joel haven’t had the opportunity to patrol together, always paired up with someone else—it’s a cramped spot, loud, and uncomfortably cold at this time of year no matter how many fires you set. Plus, it’s a lot of leg work to check the dam, making sure it’s still in good working condition. It’s what powered Jackson, without it, you wouldn’t be dancing with Joel right now, let alone even allowed the luxury of having a weekend to unwind and enjoy the party. 

Joel looks hesitant.

“What?” You pry, “Don’t like the idea of being stuck in a tiny room with me for that long, one bed, nowhere to sulk off into a corner?”

If anyone else had approached him like this, it would’ve ended in a broken jaw—his own internalized anger getting the best of him. But, it’s you. And he knows you’re right. 

You squeeze in closer, leaving barely any room between you now that the center of the hall was filled with other dancing bodies, shifting Joel’s hands down over your ass, the tips of his fingers adjusting over the curve and leaving little to imagination as he can feel every ridge and curve of your body, his solid chest against your own. 

Your heart clenches at the idea that he might pull away, something akin to a bad sting and finally give up on his attempt at being sociable—he doesn’t move an inch.

Doesn’t say a word.

In fact, his gaze is even more intense now than it was before, edged with a look in his eyes that you’ve never seen before.

“I’ll sulk wherever I feel like it.” Joel retorts, falling into his usual scowl. “It’s probably about time we turn in for the night, don’t you think?”

You blink slowly, gaze never faltering. There’s a darkness behind his eyes, something still undiscovered. You nod blanky, but secretly acquiesce what he’s about to say.

“Long day tomorrow,” You agree, the shift in the air evident to the both of you, an innocent attempt at pulling some enjoyment out of Joel devolving into something dangerous and uncharted, “I’ll see you bright and early, yeah?”

“I’ll walk you back,” Joel insists, “maybe my sulkin’ will scare those boys who’ve been eyeing you all night.”

“I can handle myself, Joel.” He knows it—doesn’t make his offer any less tempting, though. He was a protector, you liked being protected. It was a devious offer that would find you in trouble soon, but you relent, accepting his help. He doesn’t make the first move, leaving you to take that step.

Joel doesn’t realize how badly he’s craved to touch you until he was, the second he laid his hands on you it was over for him—and he hates himself for letting you in, letting you wear him down. Joel’s close behind as you turn, navigating your way through the crowd quietly.

“Never said you couldn’t, sweetheart.” 

Your breath catches in your throat.

There’s a hammering in your chest that doesn’t calm the entire way back toward your house, a small street near the edge of the town, a few houses away from the one he shared with Ellie.

You clear your throat awkwardly, a thickness there that crept up on you, watching as Joel shoved his hands into his front pockets, leaning on his better leg, always favoring the left.

“I can ask Tommy to switch things back if you’re really bothered,” You remind him gently, wondering if that was why he seemed so bothered now, his face brooding and flat, “I won’t get my feelings hurt, I promise.”

But inside Joel’s head, his mind is filtering through a thousand bad decisions to make, every one of them involving you. 

“No,” He tells you surely, “You’re doing me a favor—shit, so I guess that means you don’t owe me anymore, actually.”

You shrug slightly, “Keep it, this one’s free.”

Joel has an inclination that you wouldn’t do that for just anyone, watching your face morph into a tired smile.

“Careful,” He teases, “you’re goin’ soft on me.”

You snort softly, ignoring the still burning tingle that lingered on your skin long after Joel’s touch disappeared. It was the same ache you felt the first time he touched you, tackled you to the ground and kept you pinned under his grip. He hasn’t gotten much better, still jerking awake in most situations, but you’ve learned to keep your distance. 

“Sorry,” You slip your hands into your back pockets, your thick jumper pulling tight over your chest, “didn’t realize that was a bad thing.”

Joel shakes his head slightly, still lingering on your doorstep despite himself. Old Joel would hightail it home, old Joel wouldn’t have even offered to walk you back to begin with—but, here he was. 

“I should turn in.” You tell him, his subtle nod in response.

“Yeah, sounds like a good idea.” Joel agrees, “long day ahead of us.”

The clipped responses are feeding a tension you don’t realize until you’re both still standing there, unmoving, swaying with the gentle breeze and somehow feeling warm all over while still surrounded by the bitter cold.

And there’s a quick flash that invades your mind, even while stone cold sober, that has you twitching under his gaze. He sees it, clocks it with his eyes. 

There’s no indication that he’s attempting to get a reaction out of you, just lingering in wait, waiting for you.

You never make a move to open your door or walk inside and that’s what he’s waiting for, to see you home safe. It’s the whole reason he walked you back, wasn’t it?

Joel says your name quietly, a beckon to bring your attention back to the surface, drowning in your own thoughts but your gaze never faltering, stuck on him. 

“Somethin’ on your mind?” He asks.

It’s a question that has too many answers. And it’s a test too, wondering if you’ll slip up and speak on what you’re trying so hard to hold back.

Too much—is what you should say.

You—is what you want to say.

But instead, you act. That itching feeling overflowing and forcing you to make haste decisions, tired of hearing his voice in the back of your mind, how easily it drove you crazy. The endearing twang that echoed in your head all day long, even when he was miles away. 

And you find that Joel is almost expecting it, his hand cupping your face gently, warming the skin as you press in to kiss him cautiously, top lip slotting over his bottom and relaxing, your opposite hand mirroring his own. 

It feels too tender, like suddenly Joel is just as breakable as you—it’s terrifying. You pull away suddenly, coming to your senses, wide eyes staring him down. He looks calm.

You hate it.

It feels embarrassing.

He expected it, or at least anticipated it. You can see it on his face.

“Goodnight.” He tells you tenderly, sounding upset with himself but avoiding the choice to make things weird and you’re forever grateful.

You release a soft breath, nodding absently.

“Goodnight, Joel.”

You turn on your heels and enter your house, finally. Maybe it wasn’t too late to change Tommy’s mind.

It was.

Joel was already waiting by the gates by the time you arrived, food and supplies secured in your bag for the road, two rifles slung securely over his shoulders as he held the reins to the horses, both of them neighing impatiently. 

“All good?” Joel asks, avoiding the obvious air of unspoken instances surrounding you two. 

You nod confidently, taking the reins away silently.

“All set,” You assure him, guiding your foot through the saddle and mounting the horse, settling yourself as he followed suit, “you?”

Joel echoes your response.

You sigh internally, a deep annoyance settling into your bones. Annoyed with yourself, annoyed with Joel. Just annoyed, wholly and plainly. 

Joel didn’t need to admit that he hadn’t gotten any sleep the night prior—he already had enough trouble sleeping on a normal night, but you in his head? That didn’t help.

And it flooded into the morning, still, Joel watching your body sway and rock slowly from the motion of the horse, head tucked away slightly to counter the breeze that prickled your cheeks. 

When you finally make it to the dam he breaks the silence, slipping the reins from your hand and nodding toward the front entrance, “I’ll tie ‘em up if you want to settle and sign us in, you can get a fire going?”

He’s asking, not telling. You nod, hopping down carefully and unhooking your bag from the saddle.

“I’ll scream if I need help.” It’s a joke in poor taste.

Joel doesn’t take it too lightly, scowling in response.

“Sorry,” You apologize lamely, “bad joke.”

“Be careful,” Joel stresses, face softening, “keep your gun out until you’ve done a once over of the place.”

*

It feels like fate is fucking with you, most days. Dangling your life in front of its prey and savoring the outcome, because even with your gun poised carefully at your hip, knife tucked into the strap at your thigh, it doesn’t prepare you for what’s waiting on the other side of that door.

There’s a split second where you think you can talk things down, buy you some time so Joel could get here and settle their nerves, but they’re already on high alert, as are you, and there’s no time to think.

Plus, they don’t seem to be keen on listening.

“Grab her,” The burly man says, blunt weapon held tight in his grip as he goes for your arm, the other man forcing you to the ground with a harsh gasp escaping your chest as your back hits the concrete floor, “just gut her—fuckin’ do it.”

Your brain shuts off, realizing that your strength isn’t nearly matched with theirs, your shrill scream cutting through the commotion.

“Joel!” You tell, hoping he’ll hear, dodging the hand that comes your way to muffle your yells, barking out an even more broken, “Jooooel!”

Your gun is long gone, tossed away in a corner with your hand pinned under someone’s knees, eyes squeezed shut as you struggle for the knife around your thigh blindly. They didn’t have the wits or common sense to strip you properly before they were attacking you, the younger one hesitating at the other’s words.

“I thought you said we were just tyin’ her up.” He responds, sounding panicked. 

You grab the knife successfully and pierce it through the young one’s gut with a sickening squish, a garbled groan ripping from his throat—and a rush of a shadow overhead as Joel wrested the other down, coming in from the door on the opposite side of the room, fists connecting with the attackers face with a sickening crunch.

The rage overtakes quickly, adrenaline flooding your body as you shove the man away, pulling the knife out to sink back in once, twice, until the blood fills his mouth and spills over, lifeless eyes staring back.

Your chest heaves with a breath, adjusted your clothes from where they had been pushed aside in the tackle, tossing your knife aside and putting enough distance between your body and the one who’s your killed, watching as Joel sunk the tip of his own knife through the throat of the larger man, draining the life from him in an instant. 

Joel has a ferocity in his eyes when they land on you, tossing his knife to the side momentarily as he rises, towering over the body beneath him. He can't be angry with you—he can't.

“Grab your gun,” He tells you, ignoring how easily the rage would have overtaken his body in most situations, buring it away for the moment when he sees how badly you’re shaken up (it wasn't fear, not even close—more like rage), moving around rigidly to grab your gun off the floor, “knife too—then sit down.”

“But the—the bodies, Joel,” Joel can hear the uncertainty in your voice, shaking his head insistently, “we’ve gotta go back—tell Tommy, let them know.”

Joel shakes out his muscles, adjusting his thick leather jacket around his frame and steps over the dead body, moving to stand in front of you, touching you for the first time since last night. It’s not soft or gentle, more leading in an effort to get your attention and pull you out of your gaze, his fingers cupping your jaw, chin falling in the curve where his thumb and pointer finger connect. 

You wonder how many times he's done this before—how he'd come to learn to calm people down through his intense eye contact and grounding voice. He could mask his emotions for the sake of others, even when they were threatening to boil over.

“I’ve got it, I’ll take care of this—” His eyes never left yours, eyebrows raising in question as he awaited your acknowledgment, a small nod coming from you, “go wash the blood off and come straight back, okay?”

You nod again, deftly, eyes empty and void of emotion.

“Hey,” Joel calls out, pulling your attention back, “I need you with me—you with me?”

“Yeah—yes,” You mumble weakly, ignoring how tenderly his thumb rubbed the junction of your jaw at the admittance, something you’re sure he wasn’t even aware he was doing, “I’m with you.” 

“Go.” He instructs, releasing his hold on you.

His face morphs into resentment as you leave.

He should've stuck by your side. But, then he thinks back to the joke you made in passing and it fuels the anger more.

*

Joel’s taken care of the bodies by the time you returned, shrugging off his own jacket as he yanked the door closed, barricading it closed with the vacant table stuff in the corner of the room, letting his own paranoia get the better of him. It wasn’t a crime to be too safe, not anymore.

“If they’ve got a group they’ll come here looking for ‘em,” Joel tells you, “but somethin’ tells me we won’t have to worry about that.”

“So, no fire then?” 

Joel shakes his head, nodding toward the few camping lateens left haphazardly on a desk, “We’ll use those tonight, better to be safe.”

He would have to explain this to Tommy when he saw him, put the town back on high alert for a while and go to sleep every night worrying that someone was going to snatch his family away again—snatch Ellie away, snatch you away. It was another problem, another stressor, but none of that was new to him. 

“I’m gonna do a walkthrough,” He tells you, cocking his gun loudly, a little unnecessarily in your opinion, but his anger is still there, radiating off of him, “keep your gun out and shoot at anything you see that isn’t me.”

He doesn’t want you letting your guard down, which is why his apprehension to relax is valid. You nod quietly, sinking in on yourself as you take a seat on the old, torn up couch.

He’s gone for an hour or two, the sun nearly nonexistent outside now, lamps scattered around the room and bathing you in a low light, gun still clutched in your hand on your lap, safety off.

Joel knocks on the door shortly after, startling you to near death. You hated being jumpy like this, nothing to calm your nerves. You’d always prided yourself for being able to handle yourself in situations like that and you couldn’t explain why you froze—but deep down, you knew.

It was Joel. Worry for him when he wasn’t there, what threat might be awaiting him if they could get the jump so easily on you. You stumble to your feet and pull the door open, eyebrows furrowing in confusion at the mattress in Joel’s grip.

“Tommy must’ve moved it last time—he doesn’t like sleepin’ when he’s on watch down here.”

You open the door wider, letting him inside and taking the opposite end to help with the weight, settling the mattress up against the edge of the couch and shifting the folded blankets down onto the surface, crouching down onto your knees with a soft sigh as you spread out the blankets.

You don’t realize Joel is watching you until you chance a glance up his way, wondering if this was the moment he’d let you have and berate you until he was blue in the face. 

You’ve witnessed it once, with Jesse. He’d nearly risked Ellie’s life on a patrol that should’ve been easy—he still seems a little jumpy in Joel’s presence, rightfully so.

“Look at me,” Joel beckons, adding your name in a demand to grab your attention, “you with me?”

And it breaks you, what little patience you have left in your body.

“Yes, Joel. I am right fucking here.” You snip back at him, throwing the blankets down and standing to full height. You’re tired of his act, hidden behind his pathetic excuse of a kind guise, wanting him to say what he really felt. When he looked at you earlier, hovering over that man’s body, all you could see was contempt. He was upset with you—upset that you allowed yourself to be in danger, ignoring his lectures time and time again, that you weren’t mindful of your surroundings, upset with himself that he wasn’t there from the beginning. 

Joel looks offended, like maybe you wounded his ego or something similar, his hand held up defensively.

“You’re the one over there shakin’ like a leaf,” Joel accuses, “I told you to keep your damn gun out, told you to be careful—don’t you try and take that anger out on me.”

“Jesus, Joel,” You cry out in desperation, “careful? Two against one and you’re telling me I wasn’t careful? Fuck you.”

You toss your gun and knife sheath aside for good measure, stripping out of your coat and extra winter layers, his hardened gaze stuck on you. 

“I’ll take first watch.” You tell him flatly, reaching for the lantern on the table beside the door that led to the rest of the plant, a maze of halls and room. “I’ll wake you in a few hours.”

Joel knows that if he lets you leave, there is no repairing what little relationship you had—it would return to a tolerance rather than anything else. His hand wraps around your closed fist, forcing the latent back down as he moves to stand in front of you, head tilted your way.

“I’m sorry,” He apologizes, though it feels unsympathetic coming from him, and he’s blaming it on his tone, “okay?”

“It doesn’t matter, Joel.” You tell him adamantly. “You said it, it’s done. I’ll let Tommy know you don’t think I can handle myself anymore and you can keep running patrols without me. That’s what you want, right?”

Joel scoffs.

Say no, please say no. 

“What are you getting at?” Joel challenges.

“The first time I make a mistake—one that almost kills me and all you can think to do is shift the blame on me? That somehow I’m responsible for not handling it myself?”

He shifts slightly, jaw clenching as he moves his outstretched hand to rest against the doorframe, blocking you from the exit. 

“You never let me go alone,” You remind him, “why all the sudden today?”

Joel doesn’t answer. He knows why. He trusted you, trusted that you could handle it. Joel knows you’re not the one to blame, but he can’t battle with his internal guilt of putting you in that position, letting it come out in bursts of wrath.

You lean in slightly, his eyes mindful of your body language, shoving a finger into his chest roughly.

“Why isn’t it your fault, huh?” You ask, baiting a reaction out of him before you can’t stand the look on his face, mouth shut tight as he his eyes trace your movements, the soft brown irises now an encroaching darkness.

You scoff, “Yeah, that’s what I thought.” It’s a snide comment that has you feeling a surge of confidence that you’ve finally rendered him speechless.  “Don’t act like you haven’t been bothered being around me all day—if the kiss bothered you that much you should’ve just told Tommy to switch out. Now, move.”

Joel doesn’t budge.

Now your patience is wearing then, reaching to shove his forearm out of the way, but he’s as solid as steel and doesn’t take too lightly to your touch, gripping your wrist and pulling it back in a harsh grip, one that has your face grimacing in pain.

“Say that again.” Joel demands, his voice shaking you to your core, the sickeningly dark turn it’s taken. 

You double down, “Move, Joel.” You say through clenched teeth, yanking your arm back to no avail.

You hadn’t realized how wound up you both were until now, the shared frustration and pique boiling over the edge.

You yank away again, forcing a quick change of position as Joel retaliates, shoving you against the table by the door, your legs buckling from the force of it as he towers over you.

“I apologized,” He glared at you through hooded eyes, chin tilting down slightly, “it’s your turn.”

You scoff softly, never making a move to push him away, his legs crowding between yours as they spread involuntarily, the only thing keeping you upright being the grip he had on your arm, leaving you hanging by a thread. If he let go, you’d surely collapse.

“Why don’t you tell me why you really switched patrols?” Joel suggests, tilting his head in interest. “Don’t lie to me—I’ll know.”

There was a side of you that couldn’t stand being around him, his proximity driving you crazy. But, there’s a bigger part that yearned to be around him, by his side—it was never like this at first, but you found yourself unable to escape him lately. 

You want to blame him for letting you in, letting his guard down—but you can’t. It wasn’t just his fault. It wasn’t just yours. 

You craved each other. Plain and simple.

“You tell me,” You counter, “I’m not the one keeping you from leaving.”

It snaps Joel—that feeling he’s been burying away all day. He’s nearly insatiable over it. 

He trades his grip on your wrist for your face, too quick to counter before he’s gripping your chin again like earlier, but under completely different pretenses, your mouth lolling open at the force and pulling a soft grunt from your lips, eyes narrow in defiance. 

“You are so goddamn stubborn,” He complains, eyes scanning over your face slowly, “—and you know exactly what you’re doing.”

You laugh bitterly, a choked gasp. 

He's never touched you like this, but intensity is all too familiar.

His grip was tight, your mind flashing back to the first time he held you, though involuntarily. There was intention now, meaning—and you needed him to give in to it. 

You blink once, slow, eyes staying shut for a moment longer than needed. There’s a soft sigh that leaves your nose, ghosts over Joel’s outstretched palm. When you open your eyes, there’s little left of the Joel you’ve become accustomed to.

“We’ve got all night, Joel.” His nostrils flare in warning, “Go on—do it.”

He won’t. Joel wouldn’t let himself. You’re waiting for the moment he lets you go, shuffles away and tucks himself into a corner for the rest of the night. But, it never comes.

Instead he’s surging forward, tilting your chin up roughly and forcing his lips against your own, nothing like the delicate kiss shared the night prior. There’s no gradual increase, no soft sighs and hesitant touches. He doesn’t want that and neither do you. 

You open your mouth in an airy gasp of breath and Joel jumps on the opportunity to slip his tongue past your lips, into your mouth, pressing against your own until you finally, finally return his touch. He feels the heat, the weight of your hand where it rests against the seam of his jeans, fingers resting over his belt and your knuckles pressing into the firmness of his stomach, his breathing steady despite his eagerness to ravish you. He greedily pulls your bottom lip between his own, sucking lewdly until his teeth drag against the skin, pulling back with untamed eyes.

You narrow your eyes with intrigue, mouth quipping up into a smirk at his final break of self control, allowing himself what he wanted. There was no turning back now. 

He grips your hands, yanking you upright and forcing you to turn until your hip bones are hitting the blunt edge of the table, his movements haste but pointed, his palms rubbing over the soft curve of your hips, pressing underneath the material of your shirt and squeezing the skin. 

“Joel—“ You sing softly, your tone mocking.

“Keep quiet,” He warns, pulling you back suddenly and against his front, the heaviness of his cock pressing into your backside, strained through his jeans and craving a selfish need for release—it’s been too long for him and he’s bursting at the seams, “don’t wanna hear your smartass remarks.”

And you can hear the restraint in his voice, drowning in his thoughts—he wanted to ravish and pull you apart, not thinking about how he would put you back together and make you whole again. You shift back against him, a greedy rut of your ass against the stiff denim and he’s grunting under the weight of it.

“Get ‘em down,” He instructs, yanking at your jeans briefly before his touch is gone, hands working swiftly at his own.

The rustle of his belt is deafening, metal clanging against something solid, the quick shuffle of his zipper and the shifting off fabric. You rise without hesitation, unbuttoning your jeans and wiggling them far enough down your hips until they hit your knees, underwear following roughly as Joel shoved them down impatiently, bunching your shirt higher up your back as he rubs his fingers over your cunt sleazily. 

He’s waiting a beat, eyes examining you from behind and looking for any sign that you didn’t want this—it never comes. In fact, the subtle push back into his fingers is enough, two thick digits sinking inside slowly.

You gasp ruggedly, feeling the immediate difference in fullness to your own, the touch of someone else that you haven’t felt in so long. Joel is desperate, but so are you. 

You turn your face to the side, cheek pressed against the hard surface, fingers gripping either side of the table and you let yourself melt into his touch, his fingers working you over steadily, his other hand squeezing at the soft globes of your ass, following the insistent and impatient wiggle of your hips as you seek more friction, more fullness until Joel can’t stand it anymore, palm coming down in a rough slap to your backside to still you, a warning.

“You treat all the ladies like this?” 

He should’ve known you wouldn’t give yourself over this easy, his stifled chuckle coming from behind, low and dark, until he’s quickly switching back to menacing, his fingers increasing with speed and intensity, dragging a third finger along your center and pressing it in smoothly, forcing a lewd moan from your lips as you grip the edges of the table harder, willing to strain your neck for a look his way, a glimpse at his face to see how this was affecting him. You could only imagine, his groans stifled behind heavy puffs of air forced through his nose when you forced yourself back against his cock, inadvertently rubbing yourself against the length of his shaft.

“Fine, keep acting like you hate me.”

The loss of fingers is sudden, fingers fisting into your hair with a sudden fierceness as he pulls you upright, your hands grasping for purchase. He tilts your head back, allowing you the smallest glimpse of his face as he looks forward, talking to you but never allowing you the eye contact you desperately craved. 

“You’re playing a dangerous game here, sweetheart.”

You shake your head in disbelief, lifting your hand up to wind into his own overgrown hair, curling wildly. You pull taut, reveling in the grunt that slips past his lips.

“You don’t scare me, Joel.” 

He never could. You’ve seen all sides of him, the good and the bad—there was nowhere left for him to hide.

But, he should, he thinks. You should be terrified. 

“I don’t remember sayin’ I wanted to hear your voice,” Joel reprimands, “can’t fuckin’ listen today, can you?”

He turns his head toward you slightly, catching the playful glint in your eyes, the type that was asking to be pushed. Begging for it.

“Depends,” You smile, releasing the rough grip on his hair to slide between your bodies, cupping his cock from where he’s tucked it over his briefs, also pushed haphazardly down his hips, “are you going to fuck me, Joel?”

His name shouldn’t sound like that, falling from your lips in such a circumstance, but it drags a rabidness out of him he’s never felt before. 

“Say it again.” Joel demands—and you already know.

“Joel,” Your voice is sultry, dangerous, adding a squeeze of your hand to his length, thumb rubbing over the head of his cock, smoothing the slick of precum over the slit, “you started this, too afraid to finish it?”

Joel smirks at that, a smug expression crossing his face as releases the grip on your hair, shoving your hand away and gripping himself at the base, removing his fingers from inside you and replacing them with a slow press of his cock, watching your expression fall lax, mouth hung open in a silent release of pleasure. 

“You underestimate me,” He shakes his head in amusement, his own brow furrowing at your snug hold on him, walls clenching around him involuntarily, “Now, why don’t we teach you a lesson?”

You nod numbly, gasping loudly at the sudden change in pace, body shifting to lean forward and Joel’s hands slotting against your body, one secured firmly on your hip, the other guiding you back with a steady pressure against your shoulder, immediately blanking your mind, whatever rude quip you had poised was failing you.

“So — goddamn — stubborn,” He echoes from earlier, punctuating each word with a snap of his hips, no restraint, divulging in the pleasure both of you have been seeking for a while, “don’t fuckin’ listen, always testin’ me.”

You release a soft cry, reaching an arm behind you to squeeze at his side, tightening with every sharp thrust, the head of his cock nudging something deep inside of you, the feeling coiling in your gut despite yourself. It’s a dull ache, mewling desperately when he forgoes his hold on your hip to keep your arm stuck, thick fingers wrapping around your wrist to hold you steady, eyes shifting to watch you sink onto him with an unrestrained eagerness.

“Nothin’ to say now?” Joel pesters you, thumb rubbing the tender spot at the base of your neck, the start of your spine between your shoulder blades—your silence lingers, at least in words, your pathetic noises keeping you busy.

He feels like he’s finally got the upper hand with you, he just never realized this was what it would take. 

“Fuck—fuck, Joel.” You say through a stuttered sigh.

Joel grimaces from behind you, that longing feeling of release creeping on him, too long without it and he feels pathetic for it, but you—the sounds, the view.

Oh, the view. It’s your neediness for it that sucks him in, how eager your cunt is to take hold, the wet squelch growing louder, your slick soaking the base of his cock.

“Why’d you kiss me, huh?” Joel questions firmly, trying to draw the truth out in the heat of the moment, your movements growing desperate as you orgasm creeped in, blunt nails digging into his skin. He hissed, pulling you in tight, trading the hand on your shoulder for a squeeze to your chest, palm the mound of your breast through your shirt—still enough contact to drive you insane. 

“Wanted to—wanted to see how you would react.” You admit, but there was also that selfish need. You kissed him because you wanted to—and you knew he did too.

Joel huffs in response, not fully believing you. 

“Try again,” Joel assesses the way your body tenses when his hand shifts down, pressing over his fingers over your clit and driving you over the edge in an instant, your body arching into his touch as you come, a broken moan falling from your lips, “why?”

“Doesn’t matter—you kissed me back,” You argue tiredly, “You wanted it just as much as I did. Clearly.”

And in a way, it’s all the confession he needs. 

Joel growls lowly, pulling out abruptly to grip himself, squeezing himself at the head to delay his orgasm until it fades, face scrunching up tightly in anguish. 

“What—what are you doing?” 

Joel is already tucking himself back into his pants by the time you turn around, his expression stiff and avoiding your gaze. 

There it was again, the avoidance. 

You don’t know why it bothers you so much, but it does.

“I’ll take the first watch,” He says, shuffling backwards slightly, “get dressed.”

You stare back blanky, at a loss for words.

“Did you hear me?” He asks bluntly, brow now permanently furrowed in frustration.

“But—you didn’t—“ 

The silence lingers, your head tilting in question. Your expression softens suddenly, pulling weakly at your jeans to secure them back over your hips.

“Get some sleep, we’ll head out early tomorrow.”

You still had to send a bigger team to scout the place thoroughly, a distant memory now.

You’re so fucking confused. A few minutes prior he was lost in the moment, though still wound up and tense—but it was the biggest break in demeanor he’s ever given you, the most he’s allowed himself to touch you, be close to you. 

Joel didn’t want to admit it, but he didn’t deserve it. He was trying to convince himself it was a mistake, that this was a fluke. 

He clears his throat awkwardly, hesitating for a brief moment as his hand hovers over the doorknob before he’s leaving you alone. Again. 

Joel handles himself later that night, long after you’ve gone asleep, a permanent frown on your face when he peeks his head in before he’s traveling down the hall to a separate room, cupping himself in his palm eagerly, groaning out your name as he comes.

Somehow, it makes him feel even worse.

The week that follows is tumultuous. 

Tommy swears you and Joel off of patrol for a while, tells you that as soon as he has you two alone, gathering the full story of the attack, but somehow—Joel always weasels his way out. 

He’s gone most of the daylight, leaving you to fill your days around Jackson, helping wherever it was needed. And when it wasn’t, you were stuck inside your home, watching the snow melt from the ground, only to be covered with a new blanket of it the next day.

Joel always comes home late, heavy feet scuffling down the sidewalk after dark and entering his house, Ellie having already turned in for the night. His bedroom light comes on a few minutes later and it never shuts off, his shadow crossing the window every now and then. 

He can’t sleep, but neither can you.

At first you blamed it on the bodies—but none of that was new to you. You’ve killed before, animals, infected, raiders, even a few bystanders in a situation long ago, nothing they’ve done to end up the way they did. 

You followed a bad group for too long, but eventually you found Jackson—things were different here. Joel’s told you about the horrible things he’s done to survive, assures you it wasn’t anything you could blame yourself for.

This world made people rabid. It made people afraid.

There were people, much like Joel, that used to terrify you. But this Joel, he was lost and worn down, weathered by the world and by age. He’s afraid to let himself indulge, enjoy—you saw it that night, his hesitancy to look at you afterwards. 

And that ache that lingered for a few days, it made you realize that you were missing something you couldn’t have. It was clear on Joel’s face that he’d made a mistake. With you. 

Joel looks bitter the week that follows, you having convinced Tommy to let you back out, assuring him that nothing was wrong. He’s hesitant, rightfully so, but you’re too convincing. 

You even offer to run patrol with him, or Jesse—literally anyone but Joel, who seemed obviously disgruntled by your presence that morning.

Tommy clocks it immediately, swiping a finger between you both, “You know what—I’m sending you two out together.” It’s dreadful. “Take the lodge again,” and Tommy waits for everyone to part ways, except for Joel and you, before he’s eyeing you both down, “work out whatever argument you both have going—or you’re both coming off patrols until I feel like putting you back on.”

Joel grumbles at that, adjusting the thick gloves over his hand and shaking his head with a look down. Tommy seems slightly apologetic when you lock eyes, but it’s necessary. You were too scared to admit it to yourself, but it’s exactly what you needed.

*

You can’t be bothered to stay still, wandering around the lodge aimlessly, picking up some scattered trash, sifting through the small library that had accumulated over time, worn and slightly rained over books, the pages stiff and discolored. 

Joel’s cheeks are still tinged pink from his last watch, arms crossed over his stomach as he glares at the small fire burning in the fire pit, crackling softly in the silence.

He’s being insistently stubborn, somehow managing to avoid any exchange of words in the past eight hours, not giving you his usual orders, whether delivered in a clipped tone or a kind one—it’s just nothing.

And considering how talkative he was last time you ran patrol with him, you found it to be bullshit.

You grab a random book, large and bulky and make your way toward him—he sees you coming but he ignores it, the book hitting solid against his chest as you force it there, making a snide comment to rattle him.

“To entertain yourself, since you’re so miserable,” Your eyes drag over his face, his eyes lilting up your way, the fire melting them into a warm, honey brown, “and you won’t even have to worry about finishing.”

He grabs your wrist suddenly, thinking that he might pull you toward him, but he tosses it away, throwing the book to the side too. You sigh through your nose, frustrated.

“What’s it gonna take, Joel?” 

There’s an ire of defeat in your voice, a willingness to do just about anything to put this to rest. 

“Do I need to leave Jackson, is that it?”

That gets his attention, his gaze narrowing fiercely.

“Don’t say that shit,” He bites, “you got a death wish or something?”

“Well, you clearly don’t want me around, so who cares?”

Joel bites at the inside of his cheek—he didn’t agree with that. 

“Give me something, Joel. Anything.” You plead, hand accidentally brushing his thigh as you fall into the spot beside him, imitating the closeness he craved but couldn’t bring himself to ask for, not again. 

He tenses under your touch, fist curling at his side, noticing how you pointedly keep your grip there. 

“Sweetheart.” It’s a warning.

But, it’s the biggest sign he’s given you. There was still a fondness there, lingering behind wall after wall that he’s built up.

He doesn’t move your hand either, your fingers dragging up the inside of his thigh, along the seam and stopping where his jeans creased at his groin, palm settling over the curve of his thigh.

“So, do we work things out or not?” You ask, voice barely above a whisper, talking like you might scare him away. 

And, yeah—Joel wasn’t big on hashing things out, confessing his thoughts or emotions and conveying them into words, that was never a surprise to you. But, you needed equal ground. 

You weren’t looking for a confession or some dramatic change in pace with your relationship—whatever you could classify it as. A partnership, maybe?

You need something mutually beneficial, something that was give and take on both ends. 

You squeeze at the junction of his thigh, taut muscle giving way as Joel shows little signs of being affected. His eyes follow though, acutely aware of your intention.

This was you returning the favor. 

This was you cornering him, like he had you—if he didn’t want it he would’ve pushed you away ages ago, but he does want it. He needs it. 

His jaw flexes under the weight of your grip, watching you move slowly to sink to the ground, thankful that this floor wasn’t nearly as dirty as most places. Joel shifts slightly to accommodate you, thighs spreading open to box you in, hands coming to rest down at his side, flat against the cushion.

You push at his coat lightly, forcing it away from his chest until he gets the idea, stripping himself the rest of the way, his unbuttoned flannel falling open.

You work quietly, eyes flicking up toward him occasionally to check in, make sure he was still with you. He’s mesmerized now, despite himself. Locked in.

He doesn’t stop your hands when they reach for the zipper of his jeans, unbuttoning and loosening them in one fluid motion, tugging at his jeans until, again, he catches on, forcing them down just enough.

It’s surprising how in tune he is with you despite how hard he tried to keep his distance, hoping that one big mistake would fade away—but frankly, it hadn’t left either of your minds since then. 

“Touch yourself.” You command softly, an amused aspect to your voice.

Joel balks slightly, his bewilderment something to enjoy.

“What?” You ask innocently, “Is that too personal? Sorry–I should’ve considered that when I let you fuck me over a table.”

His nostrils flare in annoyance, but he listens. Thank god. He slips his fingers under the band of his underwear, palming himself lightly under the fabric, leaving you to lean back onto your heels, enjoying the lazy show he put on for you.

He had nothing to be ashamed of.

His fingers roll against the taut skin of his sack, drifting upwards over his shaft until he finally has the courage to shift his underwear to sit snug under his balls, watching your eyes drift from his cock to his face. Joel’s mouth parted briefly, rubbing his thumb over the head, glistening with a sheen of precum, your hands itching to touch him. 

He knows it will lead to nothing but bad outcomes, but he’s indulging in it. Allowing it.

“Come here,” He’s using his free hand to beckon you forward, leaving his palm extending for you to lean into, resting your chin there gently, “open your mouth.”

You obliges, sweetening the deal by sticking your tongue out, earning a gruff laugh in response, softening your gaze on him. There were plenty of other ways to resolve things, but this was so much easier.

He slides the head over your tongue in a deft slap, slipping it past your lips slowly before he’s pulling back and repeating the process again, watching as you eagerly follow his movements until you’re bordering on impatience.

“Don’t think you have the upper hand here, sweetheart.” Joel says, eyebrow quirking up in amusement at your annoyed expression. “You want it?”

You tilt your head at him, eyes narrowing. “You want me to beg for it?”

Joel chuckles at the thought, shaking his head. “I didn’t pin you as the type.”

Cheeky Joel was something to admire, rolling your eyes and shoving his hands away, allowing yourself to take over fully and leaving him with nothing to do but watch, rolling your tongue around the head and through the slit, mouth enveloping the heady taste of him. 

Joel was always good at keeping his composure, even now–but you were looking to break him down, nothing but a mumbling, begging mess of himself, even for a brief moment.

You take him in slowly, soft and parted lips pressing down the length of him, the heavy weight of his cock pressing against your tongue, cheeks, until he’s nudging the back of your throat and you swallow out of reflex.

His knuckles flex, turning white as he curls them inwards and digs into the cheap cushion, the stitching protesting under his grip.

There he is. 

You make a small noise, a soft bubble of laughter out of pure enjoyment, pulling back with a showy drag of your tongue up his shaft until you’re sinking down again, burying your nose in the short, trimmed thatch of hair at the base of his cock, ignoring that telltale feeling to let up, breathing deep through your nose. 

“Goddamnit,” He curses, the hand not gripping the cushion rising slightly before slamming back down in a fist, the material taking most of the blow, “you gotta ease up on me.”

He doesn’t add the please, but you can see it’s implied.

You smile sweetly when you pull away, a thin line of spit connecting your lips to the wet head of his cock, stroking him languidly to keep busy, running your thumb along the thick vein that traced along the underside. 

“Don’t think so,” It’s sickening, tone laced in sugar and daring him—for what, you weren’t sure, “—more?”

Joel nods quickly, widening his stance as he sunk further into the couch, your hands bracing against his stomach as he filtered his fingers through your hair, framing it away from your face as you continued, driving him to near insanity with how easily you would take him down over and over again, stopping to tease your tongue over the head of his cock, realizing just how sensitive that part of him was.

He grunts on a particular rough pass, yanking your hair back and allowing a centimeter of reprice as your lips barely brush the aching tip, “You can stop, sweetheart. It’s alright.”

It feels like a punishment, not allowing himself to seek that relief—he sees it as a barrier, that by not allowing it, things won’t ever reach a point of no return. Not that this wasn’t already dangerous enough—it’s a ridiculous rule, but Joel follows it. He’d give you as much pleasure as you asked and then some, if that’s what you wanted.

And it clicks in your head slowly, his cock pulsing dully in your hands, begging for it. 

No. He wasn’t doing that again.

“No,” You echo your thoughts, “Give me your hand.”

“Darlin’—“

“Joel, shut up.” You demand, gripping his open palm and replacing it with your own, “I want you to come in my mouth.”

Joel looks conflicted, eyebrow pinching in a mix of pleasure and regret, his mind blanking the moment you press a gentle kiss to the head, pressing your tongue flat again and moving his hand in tandem until he starts to give in, his breaths becoming shorter, more strangled.

“That’s it,” You mumble a praise through his haziness—he doesn’t know how to take it, the feeling so foreign to him, “take control, Joel.”

His eyes fall shut briefly, forcing focused breaths through his nose as his free hand grips your face, keeping you still as he strokes himself roughly, that last string of self control breaking under your gaze when he tilts his head down to look at you, soft gaze staring back at him and he’s coming over your tongue and into your mouth with a warm rush, the taste of him overwhelming your senses as he squeezes up to the tip, milking every last bit of himself into your mouth before he’s pulling away and gently guiding your mouth closed.

“Shit—“ He groans quietly, cupping himself tenderly as he pulls away, watching you swallow and tracing a trace of him at the corner of your lip back into your mouth with your thumb, staring him down intently, “you’re fuckin’ greedy, you know that?”

You shrug proudly, rising to your feet slowly, the ache from sitting crouched so long singing a protest from your joints.

“Add it to the list,” You snark at him, taking a casual seat beside him as he tucks himself away, your hands working carefully to roll up your jacket and tuck it under your head as you recline, laying down on your side, “right?”

Joel scoots away to accommodate you, looking perplexed at how quickly you’ve changed your demeanor, yawning until your eyes squeeze shut. 

“Stop staring and get some sleep, Joel.” You gripe, reaching blindly to ball his coat up and toss it at his chest, “Problem solved, we’re even now.”

Joel puffs through his lips, ignoring that lingering feeling as you very quickly forced the distance between him and you—a payback to his own previous actions. It hurts, stings, and now he realizes what that meant and why that frown never left your face before, not even on the ride home or long thereafter.

He’s fucked. 

To say things escalate is an understatement.

The two of you never actually talk, avoiding all aspects of emotional vulnerability in turn for your usual interactions—small conversations, jokes, driving each other up the wall with the constant close proximity due to your assigned jobs. But, now there’s more.

There's the Joel that wants and takes, stops holding back his desires and gives you just about every possible orgasm from then on. This Joel is insatiable if he allows himself to be. He’s downright filthy and terrifying when it mattered and he found that the more you seemed to give yourself over, the easier it was for him to stop worrying so much. 

And he seems lighter nowadays, happier—though, it was still Joel. There was only so much to enjoy, his smiles few and far between. However, that smirk, laced in a smugness he carried with himself when he was alone with you—it had become a regular sight to see and something you craved when you’d finally get him alone.

It never starts off slow. Joel’s always itching by the time rotation leads you his way. You two keep it close to your chest like a secret–saving times like this strictly for patrols.

Joel doesn’t even wait sometimes, cornering you the moment the horses are tied up, bags set aside, crowding up behind you as he wrangles your jeans down, along with his, and presses himself inside you with a deep grunt, pressing you up against whatever hard surface was near–it didn’t matter, the ferocity of his thrusts clouding your mind.

It’s punishment for how well you tease him on the rides there, thighs spread wide over the saddle and always riding just a few inches ahead, leaning forward enough that you can stick out your ass, Joel’s eyes drawing toward you immediately. 

It was easy.

“You like messin’ with me, don’t you?” He chastises, palming at the inside of your thigh in desperation, pulling you wider and wider for him until it aches and you have nothing to do but take it. “Fuckin’ with my head?”

You laugh breathily, head thrown back against his shoulder as you moan wantonly, thick fingers bearing down on your throat, keeping you tight against him. “It’s not my fault–fault you can’t control it.” You reply innocently, stumbling over your words when his fingers press against your core.

And it’s often like this. Fast, hurried, no care or soft, caressing touches involved. It’s simpler that way.

But, eventually, Joel breaks down–little by little.

*

A week or two passes by and Joel seems desperate. 

“What did I just say?” He seethed, voice laced with annoyance, “Keep your eyes open.”

He’s right there, his hand, his fingers, buried deep inside your cunt. Joel’s on edge again, having ordered you to strip down naked while he remained completely clothed, the cold air prickling your skin like this, the lingering days of Winter coming to a close. It’s dark here, wet and mucky, the only barrier between you and the floor is an old blanket that Joel had stowed away in his saddle. He spent the last two weeks dealing with a copious amount of shit–killing more infected than they’re used to, dealing with mundane problems around Jackson that shouldn’t be his problems, but in being Tommy’s brother, he took a piece of the burden off of him.

You gasp sharply, feeling the force of Joel’s grip as he orders your eyes open, an impossible feat in the moment with how easily he’s able to bring you near the edge with just his fingers–something he found out fairly quickly. 

“Joel–Joel, please,” You beg–it’s new for you, something you don’t do often, “let me–fuck–”

“Hmm, sweetheart?” Joel questions, igniting a fire in your belly that won’t go out. He likes you this way, clawing at him, nearly on the brink of tears over how bad you need him. “Spit it out.”

You’re hastily shoving him away, brow pinched in determination as you shove him down, working desperately at his buckle, his pants, working them down with little care or finesse, gripping the length of him and sinking down in one quick movement. 

It punches a moan out of Joel’s chest that you’re not used to, his head slamming pack against his bag, the makeshift pillow he’s got stuffed behind his head as he grips your hips tight, eyes locked on the center where you’re both connected, grunting with the hurried bounce of your hips, losing what little patience you had left as you chase your orgasm, shoving his shirt up his chest to feel him–all soft, tanned skin under your fingertips as you brace yourself against him, using the surface for leverage.

He can’t stand to watch you this way, tits jostling with every hurried thrust, blunt nails clawing at his abdomen, head thrown back and eyes squeezed shut, again. He likes you facing away because he can hide his own inflections, how well you drive him wild–you’ve never cared, especially not now. 

Joel grunts raggedly, forcing out a hoarse whisper, “You’re fuckin’ killing me here.”

A soft laugh bubbles in your chest, head lolling forward and eyes opening to look at him.

“Mmm, eyes on me, Joel.” You beckon, his slow gaze trailing upwards, nodding in response to his wrecked state, hair sticking up wildly, teeth grazing his bottom lip gently. “God–it feels so good, doesn’t it?

Joel nods absently, his hands slipping from your hips to cup your ass, squeezing the flesh in his hands, aware of how your touch burns a trail up toward his face, coaxing his bottom lip to freedom, grazing your thumb over the soft tissue, soothing the ache.

You ignore how easily he takes the pad of it over his tongue and lets you press the digit beyond his lips, how willing he’s being to let you take what you want.

He pulls out before he comes, spilling into his hand to contain the mess, leaving you enraptured with his expression as his face pulls up in anguish, the same expression he has when he’s bothered or annoyed but edged with something more, his breath catching.

He rolls you back over soon after, replacing his hand with his mouth, hot tongue lapping into your folds and tasting, savoring, the mix of you two tangled together and he devours until you come, hand yanking hard at his hair.

*

April comes quickly—it means longer patrols, more problems out in the field with the infected less dormant, and Jackson coming alive more often at night, everyone enjoying the weather after a bitter winter.

You find yourself at Tommy’s doorstep one night.

Maria had been planning this dinner for a few weeks, something special for Tommy’s birthday, and somehow you got roped into going.

It was Ellie.

Joel was the least bit surprised when you showed up at the front door that night, dressed up nicer than he’s had the privilege to witness. You’re smiling, a flowy dress cutting off mid-thigh, forgoing the usual sweater with the air warming up, leaving your shoulders bare. 

Joel nods in greeting when Ellie peeks around his shoulder, beaming at the sight out of you.

“Thank god,” She groans, “Those two are insufferable together,” Tommy and Joel, “—they’ve been arm wrestling each other in the backyard for the last hour.”

Your eyebrows raise, looking over at Joel. He’s got the hint of a smile on his face, looking down at Ellie before he’s shoving her away with a palm to the crown of her head, his arm flexing under the fitted cotton shirt he wore, muscle on full display. 

It’s easy to forget how strong Joel is under all those layers, but it’s even more apparent now with how often you find him stripped down underneath you, behind you, watching him become more and more comfortable around you as the weeks pass, finally giving in to whatever it was that you two were indulging in.

It was mostly sex—a means for release and often a cure for boredom and neither of you minded it much, but there was something lingering in the shadows. 

You were good at ignoring it, apparently so was Joel.

He leads you to the backyard with a silence you’ve become accustomed to, and spends most of the dinner laughing at Ellie’s terrible and poorly timed jokes. It’s such a sight, seeing how effortlessly Ellie can break that man down, and you realize just how deeply he cared for her, even if she wasn’t his daughter. 

He glances at you frequently, a silent check-in.

You were fine—a little tired, maybe? 

You excuse yourself to the bathroom with a flick of your hair behind your ear and a whine in protest from your chair as it scrapes the floor, leaving the rest of the party in the backyard while you traverse inside. 

It isn’t long before there’s a knock behind the closed door and that unsettling creak, only to be met face to face with Joel. He looks relaxed, placated, his face falling into a natural smirk.

And based on the drink in his hand, slightly inebriated. 

“Lost?” You tease, fixing yourself idly in the mirror, watching as Joel crossed the threshold and nudged the door close behind him. “Joel–”

“Don’t worry, darlin’.” Joel soothes, “Tommy thinks I’m using the one upstairs, everyone’s outside.”

You don’t need him to explain to know what he’s implying. But, for him to want you here–now? That was different. You hate how it made your heart skip, realizing how willing he was to risk this bond of secrecy because he just couldn’t get you out of his head.

His glass slides against the countertop, the soft scuff of his boots grazing the floor as he moves in behind you, causing you to pull away slightly as he raises a hand, brushing your strap down your shoulder and mouthing the skin there, “You’re drunk.” You muse, earning a subtle shake of his head.

“Not at all,” Joel denies, “can’t be in a good mood?”

You sigh at his touch, opposite hand grazing under your dress and over the skin of your stomach, pinky finger grazing the hem of your underwear.

“When are you ever?”

Joel ignores your snark, “Don’t act like you don’t want it, sweetheart.”

He can feel the heat radiating off your body, the wetness that coats his finger as he dips it under the fabric and down the center of your cunt, “Joel,” You stress, “there’s people outside, we can’t.”

“Don’t worry about that,” He says softly, “Ellie’s gone home, Tommy and Maria are busy with a neighbor–if you want me to stop, tell me. You don’t need to make excuses.”

Your silence is all the answer he needs.

“Been needin’ this all day,” He admits, cupping your mound roughly, shifting to press the hard line of his chest against your back, pulling you taut, his idle fingers playing with the soft material of your dress, “This is cute–it’s a nice dress.”

You roll your eyes, though fondly. He can’t see it, face buried into your neck as he mouths along the skin, slipping the straps of your dress down until your tits spring free, nipples pebbling under the cool air.

“Are we talking or fucking?” You ask impatiently, pointedly rubbing your ass back against his body, earning a dark chuckle in response.

“I never said anything about fucking,” Joel points out smugly, “but since you’re askin.”

It’s the impatiences that brings you to take matters into your own hands, sliding your dress up high enough that Joel can yank your underwear down, undoing his pants with one hand and freeing himself hastily, sliding into you roughly, forcing a strained gasp from your throat. 

Joel shushes you, covering your mouth with his hand.

“Careful, these walls ain’t soundproof.” He warns, his forceful thrusts plunging you forward, eyes dragging toward the mirror image of you and him, a sight to see as he smirks from behind, admiring you openly. “Look at you.”

He grin’s devilishly, your senses overwhelmed, showing through your eyes as you squeezed them shut, only to be forced back open by Joel’s coaxing voice.

He clicks his tongue in warning, breath hot against your ear. “Open those eyes, sweetheart. Need you to see how good you’re takin’ my cock,” You whine into his hand, his brutal thrust driving you further into the countertop, ignoring the pain that spreads, overtaken by the insatiable need to come, “and how pretty you look when you come.”

Pretty. He’s never used that word before. It sends a flutter through your chest, down to your core.

It’s more intense this way, the subtle pull in Joel’s face when he drives deeper, his own orgasm on the horizon. His teeth grit hard, small peaks of it as he bares his lips back in a growl, squeezing at the soft planes of your body that he could reach, driving you over the edge with little warning, not that you needed the help. 

Seeing him this way was enough. God, was it enough.

“Fuck, fuck—“ He curses a symphony, holding himself back as he gripped at the base of his shaft and you jump at the opportunity, turning to him in a haze and sinking to your knees despite the cold floor beneath you, urging him with a silent plea as you open your mouth to him, nodding subtly.

That’s all it takes for him, a few quick strokes of his cock and he’s spilling into your mouth, head hung back at how intensely it hits him, the skin of his neck straining over the muscle, his mouth open in a soundless grunt. 

*

Luckily, Joel is the one that takes care of the goodbyes. You wouldn’t be able to face Tommy or Maria after such an instance, adjusting yourself back to a semi-presentable state in the bathroom, with some of Joel’s help as he sets your dress back over your shoulders.

It shouldn’t feel endearing, not in this context. But, it does.

“Wait for me out front,” He tells you, buckling his pants, eyes connecting with yours briefly, squinting curiously, he reaches a hand forward and wiping a mix of spit and what you can only assume is his come, away from your mouth and onto his jeans, “—you had a little…”

You both laugh at the unspoken, rubbing a tired hand over your face as you nod, shoving him away playfully.

Things are vastly different when you’re facing him on your doorstep now, his lingering presence a hint at what he didn’t have the courage to ask.

“Stay for a while?” You suggest softly, nodding toward your front door.

“Whatever you want, sweetheart.” Joel agrees.

You never realize how much Joel likes to talk about music until he’s finally found himself relaxed, your body reclined into his open, outstretched legs as he adjusts himself sideways. It doesn’t feel intimate, no—but it feels different. Joel rests a hand over your shoulder, massaging the tight muscle with a steady grip. His voice is nice, soothing.

You fall asleep like this, but Joel is already gone by morning.

By June, things are confusing. Good, but…confusing.

Joel and you have a routine by now—off days were usually spent at your house, occasionally Joel’s (but rarely) and only when Ellie wasn’t around, the days that were spent patrolling were fairly normal, aside from the insistent touching you both allowed yourself now, always leading to something neither of you could be bothered to stop. 

Joel’s vocal about things now—what he likes, what he wants, but he’s also holding back. You can see it when things get a little too intense, hands grabbing at clothes, pulling each other in with a rabidness that neither of you could calm.

He doesn’t kiss you, not really. He likes to nip and bite and leave bruises where only he can see them, but he won’t allow his eyes to linger on your face for too long, your lips, too afraid things might be misconstrued.

Not that it mattered, Joel was already fucked beyond repair. He’s only ever felt this intensely once, before—his relationship with Sarah’s mom was a fling that turned into something more, but ultimately fizzled, crashed and burned. It gave him Sarah, but he never understood what heartbreak was until then, young and naive and wanting to make things work.

Clearly, they never did.

He feels that with you, though he’s smarter now. He can be cold and distant when he feels that pull in his chest, push away just enough that you won’t pry. But, you’re smart—you’re stubborn, so goddamn stubborn. 

And he knows eventually, things are going to implode.

He just didn’t expect it to happen like this. 

You were starting to hate the lodge, finding yourself lingering to the connecting shops down the road—a guitar store that Joel and Tommy picked through often, a small coffee shop further down the way that didn’t have much left for picking, but it helped when you felt cooped up, a nice change of scenery.

But even then, the lodge wasn't a luxury to patrol anymore. Summer is practically unbearable most days there, the building always too warm, too stuffy.

Joel had other ideas this time around, stripping you down slowly by the couch nestled against the large window that overlooked the rest of the small town surrounding it.

It was quiet here.

Joel presses you into the soft velvet cushion, his own body stripped bare, a combat to the heat, he says.

You didn’t mind. In fact, it was everything you wanted. 

He’s never allowed such contact, all of you against him, the slow push of his hips inside of you has you gasping softly, fingers gripping his biceps. His place is slow, dreadful, and you both are already sweating, skin sticky and damp.

Joel doesn’t seem to mind.

He seems needier today, more willing to let the sounds slip from his mouth, his hands more curious, pulling your knee tight around his hip and gripping at the knee, head tilting up as he huffed through his nose, tense jaw, teeth clenched. He’s looking off distantly, not at you or your body, or anywhere in your vicinity really, but the torture on his face is all the same. He couldn’t hide it.

You moan softly, mumbling soft praises under your breath when he fucks into you hard enough it has you clawing at his chest, gripping tight at his shoulder, seeking whatever skin you could touch. 

Eventually, your touch lingers near his face, palm spreading over his warm cheek, thumb running along the strong hook of his nose, forcing his attention down toward you. Your fingertips graze his lips gently, other hand mirror the action as you caress his face, his eyes closing under your touch. 

The arm holding him upright nearly gives you, barely catching himself as his chest is pressed in tight against yours, changing the angle immensely.

That couldn't have been you’re doing—not a chance. But, you’re curious. You guide his face to your chest, his mouth sliding lazily against the skin as he pumps into you steadily. You meet his rough grunts with whispered praises, his breath becoming more frantic as time goes on until he’s finally chancing a look your way, eyes soft and pleading. He looks lost. You frown slightly, guiding his face toward yours and ghosting your own lips against his, never quite indulging, keeping the praises going with a soft whisper.

“God, you always fuck me so good,” You say in a breathy whisper against his lips, “so good, Joel.”

Joel squeezes you tighter, a sign of his impending orgasm. “Right there,” You sigh, “fuck—you feel that? Need this all the time, everyday.”

This. Him.

“Sweetheart—“ He warns, grunting into your open mouth, knees buckling as you slide your tongue against his teeth, grazing his top lip.

“Don’t—don't,” You panic, eyes connecting with him suddenly, “wanna feel you, all of you.”

It was something Joel could reflect on later, consider the consequences, because now was not that time—not with you looking at him so earnestly, pleading with him.

He slips a calculated hand between your joined bodies and has you both hanging over the edge in seconds, gasping into each other’s mouth in desperation as Joel does something completely selfish and unlike him.

He kisses you, no qualms or hesitation. It’s messy and wet but it’s him—his mouth soothes the ache as your orgasm overwhelms your body, his own chest rattling at the force, moaning pathetically against your mouth as he comes in hot, warm pulses inside of you, cunt clenching around him tight, like a glove. 

Joel soon slumps against your body, all energy drained from him, your hands weaving through his hair gently, caressing the soft spot behind his ear.

He doesn’t complain, letting you hold him until his cock softens, pulling out of you with a disgruntled noise before he’s resting on the cushion beside you, back pressed tight against one side to make room for the both of you, tilting himself sideways and letting his fingers drift over your naked frame, indulging in every part of you. 

“Should we talk about this?” You ask curiously, voice softened under his gaze, his fist pressed to his cheek.

There it was.

Joel looks down briefly, his touch stalling over the spot between your breasts, right over your heart.

“I’m not even sure what this is,” Joel admits, the most honest he’s ever been with anyone, “just that—I enjoy it.”

He's being honest, he's letting you in. Your heart soars.

Joel was tired of fighting it. He'd be ignorant to think you didn't see it just then or even before.

“I would classify it as fucking,” You joke lightly, “but that—that didn’t feel like fucking to me.”

Joel shakes his head, “No—it didn’t.” He agrees, grabbing for the blanket draped over the back of the couch, spreading it gently over your frame despite the heat, finger fingers grazing along the underside of your breasts, a teasing touch that has you giggling in response, his own laugh following.

It’s a beautiful sound.

“Or we don’t have to figure it out at all,” You suggest, realizing that trying to force something out of Joel was not the way to go, it never had been—he’d come to whatever conclusion he felt on his own, “that’s okay, too.”

“We can save it for another day,” Joel promises, his fingers tracing up toward your jaw, his palm resting to cup your cheek, a tender gesture that’s all new, “right now, I just wanna quiet that pretty little mouth of yours.”

He sees your eyes light up with intrigue, already tilting toward him eagerly.

“You want that?” He teases, earning an eager nod in response before he’s closing his mouth over yours again, kissing with a leisureliness he didn’t have before, “Answer me, sweetheart?”

“I’ll take whatever you give me, Joel.”

And it terrified Joel, because he’d give you anything.

Please consider a reblog if you enjoyed this fic! It’s makes a huge difference. ♡

[local-ground-apple]

Hi could I request Diasomnia crew with a s/o who knows martial arts?

I swear this is the last diasomnia not-separate 🤭

everyone is here (with a lil focus on malmal), oh, and i enjoy bullying sebek a bit too much🤭🤭

,,Child of Man, I've been thinking...Perhaps, it's time we hired a knight for you"

At the sound of Malleus' proposition, you opened your eyes, suddenly feeling wide awake. You rose slightly from the comfortable place in his lap. You titled your head to one side, looking at him questioningly, trying to determine whether he was joking or not.

Malleus Draconia wasn't the type to crack some jokes.

He was deadly serious.

A knight ? For you ?

It seemed a bit too excessive, in your opinion.

,,A knight ? Why would I need a knight ?

You asked him, confusion audible in your voice. Before Malleus could even respond, you heard a soft, yet amused chuckle from the distance. You supposed that Lilia was eavesdropping on your conversation with Tsunotarou. You didn't even bother trying to spot the bat-fae; he was probably hiding somewhere in the bushes or branches. You briefly glanced at Malleus who was carefully observing you, as if he was scanning your face, trying to predict your reaction. He cleared his throat before he spoke up once again.

,,It would be wise. There should be someone to protect you, in case we're not around"

You furrowed your eyebrows, as your head once again layed in Malleus' lap. You could feel him gently running his fingers through your hair, playing with lose strands. Your eyes fell on Silver and Sebek sparring few metres before you. Their swords were cutting through the air, furiously attacking each other. You knew Lilia was nearby, probably silently observing their match from afar and noticing their weak areas that could have been improved.

,,I don't need anyone to protect me"

You said firmly, turning your attention to Malleus who only raised his eyebrow. He clearly didn't believe you, as a soft smile appeared on his lips. He sighed heavily, as his curious gaze seemed to pierce through your form.

Perhaps Lilia was right in his prediction that it would be quite hard to convince you to agree to his proposition. Malleus only wished to protect you, especially given the relationship between you two and his status as future king of Briar Valley. He was a bit concerned that some Faes may attempt to hurt you.

You appreciated his concern. Truly.

Yet, you were more than capable of taking care of yourself and protecting yourself. And you were going to prove it to Malleus.

,,Oh, is that so, Child of Man ?"

Judging by the amused and condescending tone of his voice, Malleus had absolutely no faith in you. You rolled your eyes, playfully nudging him.

,,Actually, I will show you ! I trained martial arts for a while back in my world and I was pretty good"

,,Oh, please do"

You remarqued quite confidently, your eyes stopping once again on two figures before you. For a brief moment you seemed pensive, quickly assessing two man in your mind. You weren't sure which knight you should pick to prove your point. You only watched their training from time to time, if Malleus or Lilia invited you.

You didn't know their particular fighting styles that well, so you could only guess who would be the easier target,

Suddenly, you felt a soft breeze gently brushing against your skin, as warm breath slightly tickled your skin. A hand rested on your shoulder, as you jumped in surprise. You didn't have enough time to turn around, as the mysterious figure leaned down and whispered in your ear.

,,Little One, you could simply pick one who annoys you more"

At this point you were sure that your cause of death would be heart attack caused by Lilia Vanrouge himself popping out of nowhere and scaring you. However, he had a point.

What a splendid idea, you thought to yourself.

,,Thank you for the suggestion, Lilia"

You responded, grinning, clearly delighted with the idea. You stood up, brushing any excessive grass from your pants, before you waved agressively at Sebek, trying to grab his attention.

,,Sebek Zigvolt ! Fight me !"

You yelled, managing to surprise both Silver and Sebek, who immediately stopped their fight. Lilia let out a chuckle at their perplexed and confused faces. Malleus only raised an eyebrow, clearly amused with the whole situation. Although, he couldn't help but worry slightly.

After all, you were just a human, meanwhile Sebek was a professionally trained half-fae knight.

Sebek furrowed his eyebrows, processing your words, before his face twisted in grimace.

,,What, no ! I will hurt you, Human ! You're just a weak mortal !"

Great, as always Sebek was subtly insulting you. You were certainly not weak and you were going to prove it to him teh hard way.

,,Oh, come on, Sebek ! Don't tell me you're afraid that some weak human could beat you in the fight ?"

You yelled back, your voice clearly teasing and railing him up, which was exactly what you hoped for. Perhaps your taunts would hurt his pride and temper and he would agree to your provocation.

Sebek was hesitant.

He actually wouldn't mind wiping that arrogant and confident smile off your face, however one look from Malleus told him otherwise. He glanced at his Master, who was eyeing him carefully. Sebek could literally feel chills on his back from Draconia's icy glare filled with subtle threat.

Sebek felt that if he managed to land a hit on you, his Master would personally murder him. He took a deep breath, his fists gripping his sword firmly, as he shook his head once again.

,,No need to worry, Malleus"

Lilia's amused and carefree tone broke through the silence. Silver looked at him in disbelief. His arms were crossed on his chest, as he was contemplating the situation. On the one hand, he had hope that the possibility of you decking Sebek existed and he would love to watch it; but on the other hand, he was a bit worried that you could get seriously injured. After all, his fellow knight wasn't known for his gentleness.

You approached them both, teasing Sebek once again, trying to rail him up so he would agree to your proposition.

,,Come on, Silver ! You gotta help me convince him"

,,I'm not sure if this is a good idea"

Silver responded diplomatically, eyeing Malleus and Lilia sitting in the shadow of the willow tree. They were whispering, but from this distance, he couldn't make out what they were talking about exactly. Given the cheerful look and playful smile on his father's lips, probably nothing good.

Silver sighned heavily. Now you and Sebek were screaming at each other, trying to assert dominance and convince the other party. Silver was definitely inviting you to a nap after this.

,,Your precious human will be alright, I can assure you of that, Malleus"

Lilia leaned forward and sat near Malleus, who didn't take his eyes off your form for a mere second. Diasomnia dorm leader clearly wasn't believing his friend. He eyed him suspiciously and in disbelief. There was absolutely no way that he was letting you fight one of his knights and possibly get hurt.

,, I've seen them in action once. They will be fine, I can't say the same thing about Sebek"

Lilia stated calmly, as Malleus' eyes widen at his words. Oh, that was quite unexpected. He supposed that if his caretaker was allowing this, he should be fine with your proposition. After all, Lilia was never mistakened in matters concerning any type of fighting.

,,Did you spare with them ?"

Malleus asked, as he glanced in your direction. You and Sebek were eagerly screaming at each other, as Silver stood there massaging his temples, as this arguing was giving him a bad headache.

,,Oh yes, once. I even gave them few tips. "

Malleus nodded his head in an understanding way. Lilia was quite proficient in fighting and throughout his long life he had learned plenty of martial arts. When he spotted you practicing by yourself in secret, he was more than happy to guide you, watch you train and offer some tips on how you could improve.

Lilia was confident that you could absolutely destroy Sebek in a fight. You were less aggressive and more agile and faster than him.

Malleus waved his hand, giving Sebek a green light.

,,Thank you, Tsunotarou ! You will definitely love this !

You exclaimed, as Sebek only rolled his eyes at the sound of your voice. He certainly wasn't planning on using his full strength in order not to severely injure. However, he wasn't the type to go easy on you either.

,, I will go easy on you, Sebek. No need to worry "

You said confidently, smiling softly. Your words clearly irked him, as Sebek scowled in indignation. As if you were the one who would get hurt.

Silver tried to mask a giggle escaping his lips by coughing diplomatically, as he took few steps back, to give you two enough space for your battle.

You were positive that you were going to deck Sebek.

To say that you got carried away a bit would be an understatement. You went absolutely feral and you certainly didn't hold back at all.

That "weak" human had kicked Sebek's ass and decked him hard.

,,You broke my arm !"

,,Your incompetence broke your arm, Sebek"

Silver responded, before he started laughing at Sebek's misery who only yelled at him. Lilia was currently observing Sebek's broken arm, assessing the damage you had inflicted, as his one hand gently tapped his back, telling him not to be so dramatic. Meanwhile you were repeating your apologies over and over again, as if they could magically heal Sebek and his shattered pride.

,, Hmm, I suppose you were right, dearest Child of Man. You don't need a knight"

Malleus' calm voice shifted your attention from Sebek yelling at you once again. You smiled slightly in embarrassement. You didn't mean to injure one of his knights.

,,Well, I didn't mean to break Sebek's arm. I swear it was an accident"

You began explaining yourself, yet Malleus brushed you off with a mere wave of his hand, signaling you not to worry about it. He was impressed with your skills.

,,Don't mind him, Child of Man, that was quite an entertaining show, I must admit"

You shook your head in embarrassement, hiding your face in your hands. Malleus certainly wasn't helping you right now. Not even mentioning Silver who was also having time of his life. Silver tried to mask his wheezing in the background, but he failed splendidly. It was the greatest thing he had witnessed this week.

,,Y/n, you need to teach me some of your moves "

Silver suggested once he stopped laughing at Sebek's misery.

,,I will teach you how to wield a sword in return"

At Silver's suggestion, your eyes widen in surprise. You liked that idea. Malleus seeing sparkles dancing in your eyes and excitement oozing from your figure, only shook his head, sighing heavily.

This was clearly a bad idea.

[raewritez]

for the want of the sun| chapter 17: onwards

The Misty Palms oasis is less like an oasis, and more like a water hole. More like a puddle in the sand. It’s evening, the sun low but still impossibly hot. My skin is damp, and I’m dragging my feet as I follow Iroh and Zuko through the small town.

Zuko scours our surroundings, the men cooped up in corners, the people leering from the scarce shade. “No one here is going to help us. These people just look like filthy wanderers.”

I roll my eyes. “We’re filthy wanderers, Zuko.”

Iroh stops suddenly, and with my mind foggy from exhaustion, I run into him. He barely falters. He raises his arm, pointing. “I think I found our friend.”

It’s an old man, sitting at a table and fiddling with what looks like a cheap Pai Sho set.

“You brought us here to gamble on Pai Sho?” Zuko hisses. 

“I do not think it’s a gamble,” Iroh muses, and walks forward. Zuko meets my eyes with a tired expression, one I’m sure I’m matching. 

“I don’t know if I can make it through this,” I mutter, watching as Iroh takes a seat across from the man. 

“Me either,” Zuko groans, but nudges me along. We go to stand beside them.

“The guest has the first move,” the stranger says, and Iroh places a tile, the lotus, in the center of the board. I see the man’s lips quirk up, a curious and pensive expression overtaking his face. “I see you favor the white lotus gambit. Not many still cling to the ancient ways.” 

Iroh nods. “Those who do can always find a friend.”

Zuko and I share a look. Huh?

The two place their tiles on the board, one after the other, until a shape emerges. I look at the pattern: like a flower. A lotus. 

“Welcome, brother,” the man says. “The White Lotus opens wise to those who know her secrets.”

“What are you old gasbags talking about?” Zuko exclaims. 

Iroh glances at him. “I always tried to tell you that Pai Sho is more than just a game.”

“Hey!” A yell sounds from behind us. Two men, dressed in Earth Kingdom clothing, are walking towards us quickly. “It’s over! You fugitives are coming with me!”

The Pai Sho man whips around in front of us and grabs my shoulders. I’m too startled to pull back. “I knew it! You three are wanted criminals with a giant bounty on your heads!”

“I thought you said he would help!” Zuko yells, pushing the man away from me with force. He stumbles on his heels.

Iroh places a hand on his shoulder. “He is. Just watch.”

The stranger rights himself up and points at the two intruders. “You think you’re going to capture them and collect all that gold?”

The effect is instant. Suddenly, from every direction, men and women are coming out of their places of hiding, knives, chains, and swords gleaming. 

I step near Zuko. “This is helping?”

Someone yells, and the people run towards each other into a mob. I’m shielding my face, ducking, when Zuko grabs my arm and lifts me away. He pulls us behind Iroh and the stranger, and we duck inside a small door.The man closes it behind us, latching the lock. 

Zuko is still gripping my arm, so I nudge him. He looks down and releases it quickly.

“It is an honor to welcome such a high-ranking member of the Order of the White Lotus. You must know may secrets.”

“What’s going on?” I ask desperately.

“Now that you played Pai Sho, are you going to do some flower arranging, or is someone in this club going to offer some real help?”

“You must forgive my nephew,” Iroh says. “He is not an initiate and has little appreciation for the cryptic arts.” He sends Zuko a look, but I can’t say I’m not on his side. 

“Okay, but actually, is someone going to help us?”

They ignore me. The man leads Iroh to a small, hidden door, where someone is looking through from the other side. “Who knocks at the garden gate?” the voice asks. 

“One who has eaten the fruit and tasted its mysteries.” 

I shake my head. I think the desert is making me insane. 

The door opens, and a short man steps aside to welcome Iroh in. I go to follow, but he turns back to us. 

“It’s members only, sorry.” The door shuts.

I turn to Zuko helplessly. “Are we going crazy?”

He’s staring, annoyed, at the door, but then a tired smile twitches at his lips. “I think we did a long time ago.”

—

A thud shakes me awake. I lift my head from the wall where I’m slumped, next to Zuko. We share a look, both of us still weighed down by sleep.

“Is the meeting over?” Zuko asks. His voice is hoarse and raspy, which for some reason sends a jolt through me.

“Everything is taken care of,” Iroh says. “We’re heading to Ba Sing Se.”

“Ba Sing Se?” I question, rubbing my eyes. “What-”

Zuko interjects. “Why would we go to the Earth Kingdom capital?”

The Pai Sho man answers calmly. “The city's filled with refugees. Nobody will notice three more.”

“We can hide in plain sight there. And, it’s the safest place in the world from the Fire Nation.” Iroh chuckles. “Even I couldn’t break through to the city.”

A bell rings, and a boy enters the shop, carrying pamphlets of paper. Everyone turns to him. “I have the passports for our guests. But there are two men outside looking for them.”

“Okay,” the Pai Sho man says. “Then it’s time to sneak out.”

He ushers us near the door, where three large flower pots line the wall. He points, smiling. “In you go.”

—

We arrive at the ferry dock early in the morning. Our driver leads us inside, instructs us to hand our passports to an elderly looking man at a wooden desk, and leaves, sharing some cryptic words with Iroh that leaves my head spinning from lack of sleep.

We board the ferry and leave the port, and the sea air is welcome on my skin. After days of traveling through dust and grime, and a night spent in ceramic flower pots, I tilt my face to the sun, smiling. The boat workers bring us plates of food that look suspiciously translucent. 

Iroh approaches us, dressed in an ostentatious floral hat. It’s too early for this.

“Who would’ve thought that after all these years I’d be returning to Ba Sing Se as a tourist!” His smile is wide and he adjusts the hat on his head. 

“Well, you’ve got the look down,” I say, gesturing to his outfit. He nods proudly.

Zuko scoffs, sitting beside me, feet hanging off the edge of the ferry. “Look around. We’re not tourists, we’re refugees.” He takes a bite of his food, and I watch as his eyes widen before he spits it out. “Ugh!” he exclaims. 

I chuckle. I wouldn’t have dared to eat it.

Zuko storms. “I’m sick of eating rotten food, of sleeping in the dirt. I’m sick of living like this!” 

“Aren’t we all?” a voice drones.

I turn around to see a boy standing against the deck post, and…oh. He’s tall, his tan skin dewy in the soft morning light, his dark hair framing his face. He has a rugged look to him, like he has experience in the struggles Zuko was ranting about. He sweeps his eyes over us, and when they meet mine, I have to fight not to look away. He locks our gaze, his lips twitch up at the ends.

“My name’s Jet,” the boy says, standing. “These are my Freedom Fighters, Smellerbee and Longshot.” He gestures to two others: a very tall boy with serious looking features, and a short girl covered with face paint.

The girl nods. “Hey.”

“Hi,” I nod back. When I look back at Jet, he’s still smirking.

“Here’s the deal,” he says. “I hear the captain’s eating like a king while the rest of us have to live off his scraps. Doesn’t seem fair, does it?” Zuko straightens up beside me.

“What kind of king is he eating like?” Iroh asks.

“The fat, happy kind,” Jet answers flatly. He looks at Zuko. “You want to help us liberate some food?”

Zuko tosses his bowl of food to the side. “I’m in.”

I stand up. “I can help, too.”

Again, that smirk. Jet walks closer. “Don’t worry about it, sweetheart. Just let us do the work.”

I eye him steadily. “I can help. I think you’d rather have me with you.” I look at Zuko, urging him with my eyes to jump in.

“Right, yeah,” he says, a moment later. “She’s good. She can chi-block.”

Jet raises his eyebrows. “Chi-block, huh? That’s pretty advanced. Where’d you learn to do that?” I catch the flash of suspicion in his eyes.

“Self-taught,” I shrug. 

His eyes linger on me a moment longer before he finally nods. “Okay. Regroup at nightfall. We're gonna have a real meal tonight.”

---

taglist: @aquaamethyst96 @kaygilles

a/n: AYYYY. FINALLY OFF TO BA SING SE. ENOUGH FILLER, LET'S GET SOME PLOT IN THE CHAT. IT'S SLOW BURN TIME BABIES.

[three--rings]

You Should Watch Moonlight Chicken

Welcome to my formal rec of this show, which has stolen my heart so completely over the last few weeks.

What is it?

Thai BL series from GMMTV which has just finished airing (as of March 2, 2023). The characters all revolve around a chicken rice diner called Moonlight Chicken. It's got eight episodes a little over an hour each.

Couples:

Jim and Wen:

The main characters and couple are Jim (left above) and Wen (right). They meet when Wen passes out drunk at Jim's restaurant one night and they end up talking and flirting and then going home for a "no strings attached" one night stand.

Afterwards Wen is determined to attach strings but Jim holds firm to his "no complications" rule. Wen starts working part time at the diner in a not-at-all-sneaky plot to win him over.

Heart and Li Ming:

The adorable teen couple of Jim's nephew Li Ming, who he is raising, and Heart, a boy who has been extremely isolated since becoming deaf three years ago. They quickly develop a friendship and learn to communicate and it's heartwarming and adorable right up until it deal with very real issues of ableism.

Other characters:

Alan

He's Wen's not-quite-or-maybe ex. It's complicated. The show might be just as much about Wen and Alan as Wen and Jim, but theirs is a breakup story.

Gaipa:

He's a young friend of Jim, with a massive crush on him. Unrequited love and his relationship with his amazing mom is his focus. Standout performance from the actor.

Saleng:

The token straight. I felt bad leaving him out, okay? He's a good boy.

Okay but what's it ABOUT?

Life. Love. Relationships. Growing up, healing, building community and family even in the face of adversity.

Could you elaborate?

Okay look, the way the plot of this show was sold was "One Night Stand leads to complications when one of them already has a boyfriend?!? Drama!" Which is downright misleading. I showed up for messy gay drama and got a profound piece of queer cinematic art about the struggles of modern life and love and relationships.

This is honestly not your typical BL series at all. It really does feel a lot more like serious drama, queer film, etc than what we are used to. (I'm not saying it's ALONE...just rare.) It feels like a director/creator coming into their own and really stretching their abilities.

The cinematography is gorgeous, creating a quiet and pensive mood throughout. The acting is remarkable, excellent across the board with some real stand-out performances from the "side" characters.

The plot flirts with melodrama/soap opera turns but it always comes down on the side of grounded, realistic takes. I'll just say there are some moments that really hit me because they reflect experiences I've had in my life so well.

This show is very Adult to me. And by that, I don't mean steamy or sexy. It's really not, despite the first episode. It's a very chaste show, all things considered. I mean Adult in terms of These are Problems Adults Have. Dealing with the ending of relationships, getting over past relationship trauma, dealing with grief and loss, figuring out what you want in life, having to be there for your ex because they need you and you still care, etc. Just life, sometimes messy and painful, but ultimately beautiful.

If you can't tell I could go on for a while. But honestly, even if you're not a BL watcher normally, I recommend you give this a try. It's a feel-good show that will make you cry.

Okay where do I watch it?

Good news! The show is available for free on YouTube in its entirety! Just look for the GMMTV official channel.

Content Warnings under the cut to avoid potential spoilers but they will remain vague

Having sex while under the influence of alcohol but fairly lucid, cheating as a topic, breakups, ableism and parental neglect as a result, death of a partner, death of a parent, motor vehicle accident aftermath, age gap relationship(s)

[imaginedreamwrite]

Hi!!

For fix it Friday- alpha pre serum!Steve helping omega!reader neighbor is always trying but failing to hang pictures or stuff on the wall and Steve just shows up to help because he can hear her struggling next door when he shows up again she’s trying to hang up some art she bought (maybe it turns out to be his)

He tried not to be nosy, he knew his ma wouldn’t have liked it if he stuck his nose in other people’s business but there was a point in his life where he couldn’t help it.

If there were certain factions of women who inherited the damsel in distress functionality than Steve Rogers had inherited the knight in shining armour function. He hated bullies and he always had to be helping someone.

He couldn’t help but notice his new neighbour’s frustrated groans that echoed from the living room to his kitchen through the open windows. It wasn’t his fault that he could hear the sound of banging on the walls and mild curses.

Steve Rogers was raised to be a gentleman and a good alpha, and seeing that his new neighbour was an unmarked, unmated omega he knew he had to help. He hadn’t wasted more time than was necessary and almost immediately left his place for his neighbours. There was that his new onset feelings of anxiousness after he knocked and the sense that he had royally fucked up before he even started.

Regardless, when the door had opened and you had stood before him looking wide eyed, he in return looked pensively surprised.

The two of you were at a standstill, eye to eye as your designation scents had collided with one another in a heady mix. Steve had inhaled slowly, your scent invading every part and piece of him, settling in his body in such a way that he had wondered if it would ever leave.

“Hi.” You finally spoke and with your dulcet tone, a soft shiver shot down his spine.

“I’m an alpha.” He blurt our with a blush dusting his cheeks and his fingers twitching against his sides.

“What?” You furrowed your brows, the corner of your lips twitching.

“I’m an alpha I swear.“ he felt as if he owed you an explanation, as if he had to get it out there that despite his lithe size and his distinct un-alpha like size, he still belonged to that designation.

“I know,” you replied with a soft laugh, the sound stirring tender want within him, “I can tell.”

“Steve,” he shoved his hand toward you, his brain short circuiting the longer he had caught and held your scent, “Rogers.”

“Y/N,” you placed your hand in his and shook it gently, a vibrant and connective spark crackling between you two, “nice to meet you alpha Steve Rogers.”

“I heard your noises,” he spoke without thinking and winced, still holding your hand, “I mean I heard you..”

“I was trying to hang something.” You glanced between the two of you and the connection your hands made. “You have paint under your nails.”

“I was painting. I’m a painter, I sketch too.” Steve felt like he was rambling, speaking quickly and without thought. “I’m an artist.”

“An artist,” your smile was warm, instilling a certain desire within Steve that made the alpha in him wish to get closer than he was, “that’s amazing!”

Steve hummed and mumbled a thank you and then he had cleared his throat while lifting his hand to the nape of his neck, rubbing softly. “So do you..:need help?”

“Sure,” you stepped back and opened the door a little wider for him, “I was trying to hang a piece of artwork I’d just bought.”

When you stepped back and allowed Steve in, he had followed you through your place to the living room. You were talking about something to do with moving in recently or the painstaking task of trying to do as much as possible before it got cold, however all Steve could fixated on was the piece you were trying to hang.

He recognized it the moment he laid eyes on it. It was his piece, one of his first pieces he’d ever made and it was in better shape than he expected.

You took great care of it, you took excellent care of it. And that thought alone made a wide, bright grin burst on his face.

Steve couldn’t wait to tell his ma about the omega he’d met.

[inthenextchapter]

Controversial Fame - Chapter 2

When Mila Jordan meets her long-time celebrity crush Nicholas Whitmore, she understands why people say you're better off without meeting your idols.

But Nick surprises her by showing glimpses of the maturity he should possess, being older than her - only to turn around and act like men half his age, going from one girl to the other at every party they meet. Contrary to what most - even Nick - believe, Mila doesn't mind. In fact, she envies him: after losing her husband and being propelled to fame for the eulogy she performed at his funeral, she's sure she'll never fall in love again. So she's determined to learn the art of casual relationships so she won't spend the rest of her life alone.

What happens when Nick offers to be the one to teach her how to be in a physical relationship without emotional attachment?

Will Nick be prepared to realize the student overcame the master?  

It was almost 2 AM by the time I left Louis’s guest bedroom. Cynthia was always a good fuck, but man, did she take her time to get down to business. If I wanted to wine and dine someone before getting down to business, I wouldn’t be in this damn party, in the first place!

I smiled at some people I know, silently praying no one would pull me towards more meaningless conversation. Friday nights would go so much smoother if people were honest to themselves about what it was that they wanted to be doing in the evening.

Having a drink? Hey, a party is a good place for that. Even dancing, that much was understandable, but the truth of the matter was that most people were here because they either wanted to fuck someone, or wanted people to know they were friends with someone.

And that was something I just couldn’t understand. Well, not the fucking part, I was in that group, too - but I never lied about it. There was no need to pretend something more than sex was going to happen, every woman I’d been with knew that I didn’t fake pleasantries to get them into bed with me.

My Friday nights were about fucking, and only that.

“Hey, Nick!” I almost froze upon hearing my nickname, but thankfully it was only Jesse trying to call me back into the group. They’d moved onto one of the game rooms and everyone was seated in a sort of semicircle around a coffee table filled with dozens of beer bottles.

I smiled, because if there was one thing that helped me handle the dread of parties (apart from fucking) it was talking to my friends. “You disappeared so suddenly, no one knew where you were!” My best friend teased me, only to hear the echo of laughter as I took a place on the couch next to the new girl.

“You can’t be that stupid,” Rachel teased him, giving Jesse a playful punch. “He disappeared into the house with Cynthia. Of course you knew what they were up to!” Being almost as bad as I was when it came to sex and relationships, Jesse just shrugged. If there was one thing he loved, it was teasing me to death.

“He said in an interview this week that he was looking to settle down and have a family. I figured he’d be somewhere proposing to her or something.” More laughter flowed freely around the room, but I could feel my cheeks start to burn.

Leave it to Jesse to miss the line between teasing and making someone uncomfortable. I couldn’t call him out, though - he wasn’t wrong. I still remembered the second after I blurted out those words to the interviewer of a morning show - I could blame the hour, how hungover I was, anything, but the damage had been done…

Thousands of fangirls had my twitter going insane, offering to become the mother of my proverbial children, and the worst part is that I couldn’t say that I hated it.

“I’ll give you this,” Rachel interjected, looking pensive as she waved her beer around as a prop. “You’re almost forty! As the oldest in the group, you should be the one at least considering the idea of settling down.”

I rolled my eyes as I accepted a cold beer someone offered, quickly leaning back to take a swig of it. I didn’t miss the way the newcomer’s eyes watched me, and it made me smirk.

“I don’t understand why you’re so worried about it. I’m not that old, Rachel. The second I decide to settle down…” I didn’t manage to finish my sentence. A little giggle had me interrupting my train of thought, turning to the side to frown at the new girl and find out what it was exactly that she considered being so funny.

“Something wrong?” To her point, she looked mortified, staring at the empty bottle in her hand as if wishing it would burst into flames and give her an out from this conversation. I hadn’t been around her long enough to know how much she’d drank, but it was safe to assume alcohol had played a part in her inability to stay quiet.

“Not really.” She tried to get away with it, but I wouldn’t let her. Maybe it was the alcohol in my own veins, but I was more than a little curious to know what that giggle meant and what was the image the newcomer had of me now. “I’m sorry.”

“No, by all means. Tell us.” There was a little moment of visual confrontation, but even then she seemed reluctant to admit what it was that ran through her head while I was speaking. “C’mon, we’re all friends here.”

I didn’t mention that we - her and I - weren’t just yet - and that I had no intention of letting our relationship become that. For the purposes of what I wanted from her, however, it was important that I knew exactly what it was that she thought of me, and I’d do anything to learn that.

The newcomer - Mila, I remembered it now - looked at Rachel as if asking for help, but the other woman just shrugged, probably too drunk by now to pick up on how uncomfortable the atmosphere had become. Finally, Mila adjusted on her seat and took a deep breath - beer bottle no longer in her hands to give her the extra nudge that she needed.

“It’s just that… I mean, look at you.” She pointed at my outfit, which consisted of a tank-top with a flannel and a baseball cap flipped back. “You don’t look forty, you look like a teenager. If you wanted to be married, you’d be. It’s obvious that you’ll never go down that road, though - unless something really out of the ordinary happens.”

I wanted to ask her why she thought that, but the answer seemed to be obvious enough. Even though I hardly knew her, this woman had been able to perfectly analyze me just by watching my behavior tonight, and I can’t say it felt too good to be so easily judged, even if we were amongst friends.

Her ability to see right through me sparked up some of my deep-seated insecurities. Who’s to say my fans, my audience, can’t see the act I put up every time the cameras are on me? They expect a character in my movies, of course, but not when I’m being interviewed.

Fuck, this woman really ruined the night for me. And she didn’t even know me. That was the worst part. She just had to insert herself into the conversation and turn it upside down. How annoying.

“If I wanted to be married” as if it was so simple. Dating in Hollywood was never simple, and finding someone to settle down with was a challenge enough of its own without fame to consider.

“Does this mean you’re offering?” At her tilted head, a sign of her confusion, I quickly clarified. “Would you like to marry me?” Everyone, including her, broke down into laughter, but I could see there was some embarrassment in her features that she was trying to hide.

I chuckled, drinking my beer while I waited for her response, which she only gave me after wiping her hands down on the loose fabric of her dress. Another sign of nervousness. Good, so I wasn’t the only one feeling this way. “See? That’s the thing. You could have anyone you wanted. It’s not for lack of suitors that you’re still single. So it has to be for the lack of real interest.”

I pondered over her words, my lips pursing as I leaned back on my chair once more. But my eyes never left hers, and I struggled to make sense of the fog of anxiety that was quickly clouding my judgment as my friends waited for my rebuttal.

I looked at the woman who seemed to read me so well with barely veiled interest. She was so young, definitely way younger than me, but despite her obvious nervousness in this environment (then again, she was just starting to get introduced into this world, I remembered), the way she spoke made it seem like she was certain of what she said. And seeing as she was talking about my life, that gave me very conflicting feelings.

First, I felt weirdly understood by this complete stranger who had just waltzed into my friend group. No one here had ever considered this possibility - or if they had, they certainly didn’t have the guts to confront me about it. But here she was, like something out of a novel, just suddenly here and seemingly seeing parts of my soul I’d never exposed to anyone before.

Which, of course, also infuriated me. Try as I might, I didn’t like to be vulnerable, especially in front and because of someone I barely knew. It was irrational and a little bit childish, but I couldn’t control that part of my brain - maybe because of the alcohol, maybe because of the entire situation.

“Very well,” I smirked. “I like how you think of me. Guess it means you find me incredibly attractive, huh?” I winked in her direction, and she ducked her head to hide her expression, but I knew the effect I had on her. I saw the way she looked at me, and it wasn’t that different from the way I had trailed my eyes up her body. “Still, I’d like to know how the hell would you know that all that it takes for a marriage to work is interest.”

She cleared her throat at that, straightening up on the chair as she found the courage to look me in the eye again. I thought that question would have shut her up, the perfect nudge to make her realize she didn’t have the authority to keep talking about this subject, but it was clear that it hadn’t been the case at all.

“I’ve been married, actually,” she clarified, and even though I didn’t sense any presumptuousness in her tone, it still made my blood boil. So I shrugged, taking another swig of my beer before commenting, as if it was no big deal at all, “And so what? If he got tired of you, it’s not like interest is everlasting, is it?”

I regretted the words as soon as they were out. I closed my eyes as I mentally punched myself for hurting someone so viciously for something this small, but when I opened them again, she wasn’t there anymore.

Rachel was though, and she stared at me with clear anger in her features.

“Her husband died, you asshole.”

I felt like I’d been punched to the stomach. Because the worst part was, I knew it. I knew it and I just didn’t remember it. The video I watched, the video that propelled her into the eyes of the nation, was her eulogy to her late husband, and I was nothing but a fucking idiot.

[hoebaring]

Open Books (40) | Kim Namjoon

An unpredicted switch of journals brings two strangers close. Strangers with similarly perturbing experiences, and beautifully healing souls. Abused, bullied, and traumatized, they help each other, and those around them break away from similar experiences, heal and grow gracefully. With thoughtful emotions, and ever growing minds, Y/n and Namjoon are delicate heroes. They understand the best in each other, and the worst, like open books.

Tags/Warnings :- Child abuse, domestic violence, traumatized characters, bullying, self harm, mentions of toxic relationships, angst. I know it's dark but trust me it gets better! namjoonXreader, Namjoon and Y/n, A slow burn romance, fluff, strangers to friends, strangers to lovers, self love, healing, etc.

Cross posted on Wattpad

Written by Author G

Word Count :- 1.01k words

Additional Warnings :- OMFG- I'M DONE!! NAMJOON IS TURNING OUT TO BE SOOOO CHEEKY!! Poor Y/n😔🙊🙈💖

Masterlist   Previously Next

~A Sweet Truth~

"Y/n... I have something to say"

"Hmm.. go on" Y/n replies, turning to face her dear friend (and more), ceasing her ridiculous attempt at naming the magnificent constellations that are splattered across the night sky in a wonderfully mysterious way.

Upon receiving Y/n's complete attention, Namjoon seems to grow shy, a consequence of the gently pretty glint of adoration that is present in her hazel brown orbs, nothing but a window to her soul which Namjoon believes shines as bright as she does. 

How in this world can he confess what he feels for her in mere words? How could he tell her that he makes his very heart beat faster than ever with a mere smile, that she makes his days better by giving him something to learn from every day, be it the silliest or most pensive thoughts? How could he tell her all that he feels, when he feels so much?

"What's on your mind Namjoon?" Y/n asks once she sees the perturbation that consumes his being, but Namjoon doesn't reply, not knowing what to say.

"You can tell me anything, you know that right?" Y/n utters truthfully, sensing that he had something important to say.

She was right. Why was he trying to filter his words when it it is her, the person who knows him like an open book? She is to him, worth more than the very stars that decorate the sky, worth more than mere words can explain.

However, as much as she is worth more than words, he can't think of any other way to let her know how much she means to him. So, the least he can do is utter the words of admiration that spiral about his mind when he thinks of her.

The least he can do is be honest with her.

"I don't know how to say this perfectly" Namjoon starts, the thump of his heart against his ribcage growing savage with every word. "But, I will say it anyway, because, I can't keep it in any longer."

"Ok, I'm listening" Y/n comforts, clearly not expecting what he was going to say.

"I think you're beautiful." He confesses, holding his breath for a moment as if he was trying to process how quickly he had blurted that out. 

Y/n is about to respond with a simple 'thankyou', but she stops herself once she realizes what exactly had been said, and who had said it.

Namjoon had said that he thinks she's beautiful..? He just means it in a platonic way though. right?

Namjoon grows more confident once he sees the tint of red that paints her face like art, the small smile tugging at her lips which she tries to suppress by biting the inside of her cheeks, looking away from him.

"I think you, Y/n, are a beautiful person inside out. A person with a fiercely tender heart, a warm smile that gives me comfort on the most awful days, bright eyes that see the world in all its glory" Namjoon swallows the lump in his throat before continuing "And I've come to like all of that very much. I've come to like all that is you, very much."

Is this real?Y/n asks herself rather foolishly. Even so, as if Namjoon knew what it is that she was thinking of, he takes her hands in his, confirming her thoughts, instantly washing away all of those silly doubts that her mind raised about how much she's worth to him.

The next phrase that leaves his lips only seals their wonderful fate.

"I like you Y/n.. a lot."

This is very much and truly real. 

The realization dawns upon her like a gentle drizzle of rain that brings in the earthly smell of petrichor, making her heart race against time that seems to halt as she soaks in the beauty of the moment, grasping at every little detail of her surroundings, wanting to commemorate how the grass that she is seated on feels cold in comparison to his warm hands, the fireflies around them buzzing kindly with a soft glow, but none bright enough to compare to the boy in front of her. 

It's silly how many times she's imagined this moment happening in the most romantic way possible, her girlish heart swooning at the mere thought of confessing her feelings to him. It's silly, because, those fantasies are nothing compared to what was happening now. All those fantasies are nothing compared to this reality. To this truth.

"I- Namjoon.." Y/n's voice cracks as her thoughts storm about joyfully, the fireflies around her seeming to dance along with her heart "Words alone aren't enough to express how happy this makes me, but all I can say is, I like you too Namjoon. I like you, a lot!" 

Although the hints from Bo-ra that Y/n likes him back were enough for Namjoon, Y/n's words make his heart race delightfully as he grins while staring into her eyes, a boyish chuckle escaping him once Y/n tries to look away shyly. 

Rather cheekily, Namjoon intertwines their fingers into a tight lock making Y/n gasp, eyes growing wide before she turns away from him even more, only for him to tug on her hand slightly, pushing her to look into his mesmerizing eyes that sport a teasing glint amongst the swirls of adoration and care for her, the small smirk that adorns his face soon turning into a hearty smile at the sight of her, Y/n reciprocating a bashful smile, heart swelling at the thought of this being real. Of them, being real.

They love this, and they would never get tired of it. Oh, how tremendous it is that this is reality and not just a dream! Oh, how marvelous it is that this is the truth! Their truth. A sweet truth.

[tenaciouspostfun]



4



Main navigation

Home

Top Stories

Latest Stories

×

Grass Roots and Herman's Hermits in Concert.

Oldies but Goodies.



By Robert M Massimi.Published less than a minute ago • 5 min read

CommentLike

Share



Robert M. Massimi.

Until his death in 2011, band member Rob Grill chose replacement band members who would carry on the band's sound for years to come. Since that time, "The Grass Roots" play 100 shows a year throughout the country. Originally from the Los Angeles California area, the band was known for their Folk Rock, pop, pop rock and sunshine pop (arguably, some would even put them in the psychedelic pop category as well).

The band today features the heart and soul of the band, bassist, vocalist Mark Dawson, Joe Dougherty on drums, Larry Nelson on keyboards and Dusty Hanvey on lead guitar. Continuing on its traditions, the band last night churned out 11 songs; aside from a questionable choice of order in those songs, they made their hour onstage pleasurable.

Original songwriters P.F. Sloan and Steve Barri were tremendous in the arrangements, the changing harmonies that earned them 29 charting singles- 13 of which went gold. Only 9 other bands have charted more hits on Billboards Hot 100 than The Grass Roots.

Opening with "I'd Wait a Million Years", the band put the crowd into a groove. The band's second song, "Sooner or Later" should have been the evenings last one. Always a fan favorite, it maybe their most recognizable song. Using a popular Hamilton, Joe Frank & Reynolds cover: "Don't Pull Your Love" was the perfect lead in to the pensive "Let's Live for Today".

As the band really gained their traction, the evenings seventh song and perhaps should have been the second to last song song is the very popular rendition by the band "Love Grows Where My Rosemary Grows" (Edison Lighthouse cover). The Grass Roots popularized this song in the 70's, bringing it to number two on the charts. I am not sure why the band played "Where Where You When I Needed You", a Herman's Hermits song, but they really had a soulful version of this song. This song showed the talent of Larry Nelson on Keyboards.

Ending with "The River Is Wide" and "Midnight Confessions" are two that I would have reconsidered. The Grass Roots are a upbeat band, and are know for their pop, upbeat songs. I think that these two are not signature songs of the band, and a poor choice to close with.

This Grass Roots for the most part fit the image that Rob Grill wanted and imagined. Dusty Hanvey at times struggled on the lead guitar. His playing went from excellent to fair throughout the night. Joe Dougherty at times sounded like he was chopping wood on the drums. His down-strokes were to obtuse making the back beat too staccato. The lighting which is usually a strong point at The Morristown Performing Arts Center was not clear and the choice of colors were questionable. The colors did not match the genre of the music played. At Three Dog Night just two weeks ago, the colors washed well to the music; tonight it just didn't have the proper vibe.

Herman's Hermits.

Peter Noone, from Davyhulme, Lancashire, England got his training as an actor, musician and singer at Manchester college of music and drama. It was there that he founded the group "The Heartbeats". The band would later change its name to Harmans Hermits and later, Herman's Hermits. Noone had taken the role of conductor of the band and from there, Herman's Hermits had a sound of its own.

Because of his training as an actor, Noone (like David Bowie) was always able to bring excitement to the audience. As such, Herman's Hermits quickly became acclaimed as a talented band with a real character as their front man. Having been on regular T.V. shows like The Jackie Gleason show as well as Dean and many more, Noone would act in movies as well. A talented guitarist, pianist, Noone was sought after across all artist boundaries.

In the familiar Union Jack backdrop, Herman's Hermits performed 22 songs in total (many were short formed songs like Johnny Cash's "Ring of Fire", "Start Me Up" by the Rolling Stones, "Benny and The Jets", Elton John, "All My Lovin", The Beatles, "Day Dream Believer", The Monkeys and "Do Wah Diddy Diddy"; to Noone, it is as much about the showmanship as it it is the show! And what a showman he is! It did not take long for the audience to figure out that he has an incredible scale range and that his energy makes it difficult to believe that he is 75 years old. Both fit and energized, Peter Noone marched all over the stage in perpetual motion (even in the audience) for an hour and fifteen minutes.

Playing all their hits: "I'm Into Something Good", "Dandy", "Silhouettes", "Mrs. Brown", "You've Got a Lovely Daughter" and ending with their two biggest hits: "I'm Henry the Vlll" and "There's a Kind of Hush", the band was tight all night long feeding the beast of its singer. The stage setup was such that the front man was front and center. The lead and bassist were in the backdrop over Noone's right shoulder, the drummer set far behind his center and the organist off to the left. After all, there is only room for the one big personality at the front, or anywhere near the front.

Like The Grass Roots, Peter Noone was self depreciating about his age, his carrier, where he has been and what he and the band have accomplished. In his British humor he makes fun of his band mates, his family, himself and even his aging audience. Like The Grass Roots, one thing is for certain: both bands love what they do in playing music, still out on the road entertaining their adoring fans.

60S MUSIC

CommentLike

Share

About the Creator



Robert M Massimi.

I have been writing on theater since 1982. A graduate from Manhattan College B.S. A member of Alpha Sigma Lambda, which recognizes excellence in both English and Science. I have produced 12 shows on and off Broadway. I've seen over700 shows

Enjoyed the story? 

Support the Creator.

Subscribe for free to receive all their stories in your feed. You could also pledge your support or give them a one-off tip, letting them know you appreciate their work.

Subscribe For Free

Reader insights

Insights submitted by your readers will appear here.

How does it work?

Comments

Allow comments on this story

There are no comments for this story

Be the first to respond and start the conversation.



SHARE YOUR THOUGHTS…(OPTIONAL)

Comment

Keep reading

More stories from Robert M Massimi. and writers in Beat and other communities.



The Doobie Brothers at The State Theater.

Last night at the beautiful State Theater in New Brunswick, New Jersey, The Doobie Brothers exemplified why they are now Rock & Roll Hall of Famers. Tight all evening, the performance was magnified with the excellent saxophonist, Marc Russo and the expert piano and singing of Michael McDonald.

RMM

ByRobert M Massimi.19 days ago in Beat



Remembering Tony

American jazz and traditional pop singer Tony Bennett came into this world as Anthony Dominick Benedetto. During his career, he was awarded 20 Grammy Awards, a Lifetime Achievement Award, and 2 Primetime Emmy Awards. He earned a star on the Hollywood Walk of Fame in Los Angeles, California, and has sold over 50 million records worldwide. He left this world on July 21, 2023, leaving his music behind for us to enjoy.

RR

ByRasma Raisters4 days ago in Beat



The Timeless Melodies of the 60's

The 1960s was a decade of profound cultural transformation, and music played a pivotal role in shaping this era of change. From the rise of iconic bands and artists to the anthems of civil rights movements, the music of the 60's left an indelible mark on the world. In this article, we embark on an inspiring journey through the musical landscape of the 1960s, using real-life examples that illustrate the power of music to inspire, ignite revolutions, and create lasting legacies. Let us delve into the captivating world of 60's music, where the melodies of inspiration and revolution continue to resonate with generations to come.

JW

ByJuliet Wairimu2 days ago in Beat



The Stranger

There was a stranger in Garrett’s kitchen. It was uncanny, the way the stranger looked and acted almost exactly like Jenna, and yet Garrett knew, deep in his bones, that the woman in his kitchen was not his wife. No, not at all. This woman, smiling at him over a plate of scrambled eggs and crisped bacon, was someone else entirely, someone who terrified him in ways he couldn’t explain.

LM

ByLC Minniti2 days ago in Horror

Written by Robert M Massimi.

CommentLike

Share

Find us on social media

Miscellaneous links

Explore

Contact

Privacy Policy

Terms of Use

Support

© 2023 Creatd, Inc. All Rights Reserved.

[shittybjtch]

.oof

[faelid]

Got Love

Crossposting more fluff from AO3 while I work on the Kihyun version.

Inspired by No Limit track "I Got Love". It used to be that a Friday night could reliably be considered date night between two young, outgoing individuals. But for the driven and ambitious, expectations are high... and Fridays? Fridays are just another work night.

Jooheon is nothing if not ambitious. That doesn't mean he's not interested in dating. He just wishes he could find someone willing to stick around.

---

Jooheon's efforts to be more involved with the production of the band’s music were paying off. Over the years, he'd been facing less opposition and more responsibilities when presenting new songs. Starship was starting to recognize him, not just as a performer, but as an artist. He was on his way to where he wanted to be, with zero regrets about chasing his dream.

It just… made chasing his love life difficult.

Don’t take it the wrong way; if he had to pick between having a steady girlfriend and his dream, there wasn’t even a question. But it never softened the blow, never made him any less afraid that she’d grow bored; always hoping this one would be the one to just…get it. One who understood that he was interested in dating and spending time together, but that his time was sparse. It wasn’t like he didn’t make up for it-- his actual dates were planned and executed with the same level of passion that he put in to his music.

But even though he was upfront about his priorities, even though his dates always assured him they could handle a little distance, they always ended up disappointed and in tears when they realized that, despite his outgoing persona, he really did put his team, his work, and his fans, first.

If he was (reluctantly) honest with himself, his dating rotation was emotionally exhausting. And repetitive. Clockwork - monotonous, draining, maybe-a-little-discouraging, clockwork. He was almost certain his brothers had made a game of it, but if they had, he didn’t want to know.

In fact, he was probably going to make one of them a fair bit of money this week.

With planning the next album, their comeback already looming on the horizon, he’d be back to putting his all into his art... which pretty much meant no more Friday date nights. And while his latest lady had survived longer than most, he’d also had a lighter schedule recently. She probably hadn’t felt deprived as quickly as the others had, but he expected that to change. After all, they were six weeks into their burgeoning relationship, and his longest had been ten; he didn’t exactly have high hopes.

So he took her out for the ritual ‘pre-breakup’ dinner.

She was either going to turn him down on the spot, or their relationship would rapidly decline when she realized he hadn’t been exaggerating, and that would be the end of it. Regardless, this was going to be his last chance at a happy memory together.

He broke the news over dessert, while she was savoring the warm vanilla and crispy glaze of her crème brulee.

“I’m going to be spending a lot of time in the studio for an upcoming project.” He redirected his attention to his dessert, considering hiding from her gaze, before he looked back up. It hurt to hurt people, even when he was being honest, but he wasn’t going to be a coward, either.

He was an adult. He knew what he wanted out of his life, and he wasn’t going to be sorry for going after it. “I don’t know how much time we’ll be able to spend together for the next few weeks.”

She set her spoon down on the plate and leaned back in her chair, eyeing him pensively. “Do we give ourselves a chance to try it, or would you rather call it quits here?” She asked calmly, and while outwardly he maintained his cool, on the inside he was in turmoil. It wasn’t that he particularly wanted to break up; it’s just that she was likely to, and very soon. Her directness was almost refreshing, but she’d read the situation too clearly and had put him on the spot.

“Personally,” she continued, sparing him after a few moments, “I like you.” She gave him a lopsided smile, and he tried to hold back the slow spread of a hopeful grin. “I have my fair share of work, but my hours are generally flexible. So if you have the odd spontaneous free time, we can give it a shot. And otherwise…” she chewed on her lip, deliberating on a boundary she wasn’t sure she should cross so soon, but to hell with it. “If you don’t mind, maybe I can visit the studio from time to time and we can grab dinner or something. You do still eat, don’t you?”

He’d been around the block enough to know that his erstwhile lady friends were very rarely interested in “just visiting” at the studio, but if he was going to start giving an end-of-semester exam, he might as well give it to everyone.

“I won’t be able to entertain you. Is that okay?” He says, and she pins him with her gaze, one eyebrow raised in something akin to a silent scoff.

“Jooheon. I’m a grown woman. I am perfectly capable of entertaining myself for an evening.” And though the corner of his mouth twitches as the sexual implication crosses his mind, she doesn’t so much as bat an eyelash, silently scolding him.

“Besides. I also have a project I’m working on, and it won’t hurt me to put in a little extra time. I can get some work done while I’m there.”

Two weeks of absentee dating later, she showed up at the door to his studio, backpack in one hand and takeout in the other. She treated him to a pleasant but quiet floor picnic, both too preoccupied with other thoughts to spare much time for being cute, before she planted herself on his couch, popped in her earbuds, and proceeded to ignore him for the next two hours.

He couldn’t help but feel that it was weird.

Very, very weird.

And maybe…sort of romantic?

He wasn’t sure he wanted to delve too deep into the warmth that was blooming in his chest as they left the studio together, eyes sparkling as they took in the cool breeze, the company, and the beautiful chaos of Seoul at this time of night.

He couldn’t stop smiling.

He was trying (and failing) to be nonchalant as he led them on a detour, but since she didn’t know the dorm was only three quarters of a mile away, he was able to slide under the radar. Her surprise when they stopped by his favorite hotteok stand was worth it, and while she may have teased him a little bit when she finally realized how far out of the way they’d gone, he didn’t have any regrets.

Shoving that warmth back where it belongs (don’t get excited, you!) as they exchange farewells at the dorm entrance, he can’t help but feel a rush of gratitude when she follows up by asking if they can do it again sometime, and he agrees immediately. He’ll roil in his insecurities in the relative private of his room later.

“Thank for dinner.” He hesitates, in uncharted territory for the first time in a long time. “Do you want to come in for a bit? I know it’s late.” And to his surprise, she turns him down.

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t a little relieved, but damned if he was going to figure out why.

Instead, he deflects the overly-invested questions from his hyungs, and eventually they take pity on him because he's obviously dazed. He tries to get ready for bed, to push off introspection for another day, choosing to focus on the arrangement he’d been working on before leaving the studio.

It’s only the beginning, after all. Who knows how she’ll feel after a few more weeks?

But she does it again, and again, fitting in the occasional proper date or outing between Friday nights, never reaching for more than that.

She doesn’t always show up with work; sometimes she brings a book or watches a movie and just exists quietly with him. Afterwards she walks him back to the dorm, trading jokes and stories and little things about their week. She stays the night once or twice, or comes into to visit his colleagues who are his de facto family, but they always part as he expresses his giddiness in extended goodbyes, out of sight of the door camera…but anyone who chooses to listen can still hear them giggling.

He can’t say if he or his bandmates are more shocked that she’s set a new record, but he finally stops trying to convince himself that one night she’s going to throw down her computer and start hovering, bombarding him with questions, trying to worm her way into his lap. He’s not immune to seduction, but he’s used to being on the defensive.

His suspicion fades, and he enjoys her visits even more.

On the nights when the studio is quiet and he’s alone, on the nights when he finds himself stuck or frustrated, gaze roaming the room in search of an out-of-reach solution, he sees her on the couch and something in him relaxes. He’s not quite sure what to make of it, so he lets it be.

---

She wonders, staring down a bottle of wine as she contemplates the upcoming evening, if she’s getting a little too comfortable. But he hasn’t said anything, and she’s reasonably certain that if he didn’t approve, she’d have heard about it. He’s not shy with his thoughts; it’s no surprise she considers it one of his most endearing qualities. In fact, all of her previous attempts at pushing their boundaries have yielded excellent results, because usually all she has to do is ask and he’ll respond genuinely, no hard feelings.

There’s a bottle of whiskey in the corner of the studio, though she's never seen him drink any, but she’s finished her project and she wants to reward herself, wants to share the celebration with him.

But it's not just a job to Jooheon, and she knows how it is to be territorial over one's passions.

Eventually, she gives up trying to anticipate which line she might cross and just buys the bottle, slipping two glasses from her cabinet and an oversized sweater into her bag.

If he turns her down, at least she’ll still be up a bottle of wine.

---

He doesn’t seem to care one way or the other, but she quietly pours him a glass and sets it to the side of his desk before stretching out on the couch. She spends the rest of the evening surreptitiously watching him work between chapters, wine in one hand and book in the other. She likes watching him work, likes the contrast between his normal exuberance and the serious dedication. She respects him more for it, but she can’t say it doesn’t make her heart flutter.

He tries not to be too suspicious. He pointedly ignores the wine, and her, for most of the night, but when she doesn’t make any move towards him and he’s stuck pondering the particular phrasing of the chorus, he absentmindedly reaches for the glass.

He’s surprised to find that he likes it.

When he’s finished working for the night, she’s on her second glass of wine and her hair has escaped its tie. She looks like she belongs there, book in hand, lounging on his couch, and he thinks maybe he’s in love. He makes a decision the instant the thought crosses his mind, and when she looks up to see that he’s starting to pack and moves to get ready to go, he stops her.

“I want to stay here for a little while longer. With you.” He flashes his dimples at her when he picks up the bottle, and makes a show of examining the label. “Besides! It would be a waste to carry this all the way home. We should finish it.”

Her face lights up and she makes space for him on the other end of the couch while he pours himself another glass, and he relishes the casual contact of their legs once he’s situated.

It's so easy, so natural. He's not sure how he didn't notice it sooner.

“You know, you’d better listen to this album when it’s released. You’ve waited so long for it.” He teases, and she laughs. How can she not, when she’s seen how hard he’s working on it? She promises to listen to his album on repeat for a week if he promises that he can beat her game before they go on tour, and he’s somehow surprised because he knew she was a developer, but she’d never been explicit about what she was working on and he’d never really put it together that she was a developer for that company.

Wait until his bandmates found out!

As the wine disappears, so too does their teasing. He tells her about his dating experience, about his apprehension as they started down this road together, and how refreshing it is that she was different, how much he’s been enjoying having the chance to actually date her.

She leans in to offer him physical comfort, a hand against his knee, letting him feel the warmth of another body, and it burns him like a brand.

She listens quietly until it's time to set her glass down, and then she tells him about her almost-fiancé, about being forced to choose between her career and their marriage. Suddenly he understands why she’s so accommodating, and a part of his heart is angry and broken and grateful all at the same time, because it brought them together.

Their eyes make contact, kindred soul to kindred soul, and their lips follow. It’s soft and slow, exploring each other as if they haven’t kissed already, as if they have all the time in the world, just the two of them alone in the studio. She doesn’t notice that they’ve shifted position until they surface for air, and he’s propped up above her, looking at her with his heart in his eyes.

Her fingers trace a path down his cheek, across his dimples and his lips, like she needs to feel it to believe it’s real, and when at last she’s convinced she looks back up at him and whispers a soft “I love you.” His eyes close as he rests his forehead against hers, and at last he lets that warm feeling in his chest go free.

“I love you, too.”

---

At practice the next day, when he’s bragging about her to the others, it slips out before he realizes what he’s saying, it just comes so instinctively. “My wifey is amazing.” And he endures their teasing and slaps on the back, savoring the taste of the word, testing it again and again in his head, because though he never got far enough to call his previous women ‘girlfriend’, he thinks it might have been worth the wait, after all.

[holden-caulfield]

Hi bestie! It's me again 😌

So I've been thinking : divination class where reader and Draco have to read each others destiny (you pick the divination method you like best) and they realize it's connected (and in my imagination there's a lot of angst because it's Draco we're talking about and this boy does not have a path of wildflowers ahead 👀, but also fluff because reader is soft)

Voilà ! Thank you for taking my request, ily 🖤

My love, so nice seeing you here again, i love your requests😩

I spent an entire afternoon looking up divination methods and how to read palms. My conclusions? I know nothing.

Also, I tried to make it the slightest bit angsty but it came out fluffier than expected :/

Trouble And Sufferings

↪︎ 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭

Summary: draco and reader attend a divination class together which results in revelations for the both of them.

Warnings: none, the title is totally misleading

Word Count: 1276

//

"Dear class, open your minds and prepare to plunge into the future with the elegant art of palmistry! Today you'll be divided in couples and will read each other's future using only the terminal part of your upper limbs!"

Trelawney's odd words greeted you to class as you looked for a seat to assist to the lesson. Your usual spot was taken so you surveyed the entire class for a free chair, finding it in the higher row.

The seat next to you didn't remain empty for too long for an unfamiliar figure approached you and occupied it quickly.

"Please open your textbooks at page 211 and grasp your partner's palm, i will wander through the class to help those in need."

You opened the textbook in front of you and noticed the person beside you do the same.

"Would you like to go first?" you said glancing up at the blond sat next to you.

"Sure, yes." he stretched his arm in front of him and offered you his hand. You took it in your own and couldn't help but notice how incredibly slender his fingers were, adorned by a couple of silver rings that gave you shivers whenever you barely grazed them with your fingers.

You started running your thumbs on his palm, feeling the softness of it, but perceived him suddenly tensed up and softened your touch even more.

"So, this is... your life line. I think." you said, sliding your thumbs along his palm's most prominent line. You switched your eyes to the page as your thumbs kept gliding on his hand and continued.

"And this one should be..." you said while tracing the line just below the first one with the utmost delicacy, "it should be the head line."

You set your eyes on his face and caught him staring at you.

"Are you sure?"

"Not at all." you admitted with a shy smile lowering your gaze back to your conjoined hands.

He then lifted his hand from your clutch only to grasp your own hand in the process, exposing your palm to his grey eyes.

"The biggest one is the head line, this one is the life line." he said almost whispering as he traced your palm delicately. You felt shivers running up your back but did your best to hide them as his cold eyes bored directly into yours.

"What does it say then?" you asked, inching forward now completely invested in the activity. He seemed to know what he was doing, he probably paid more attention to divination classes than you did and you were thankful for that.

"Well, your life line isn't too long, but it's quite deep." he looked up from your hand to catch your worried expression and let out a low chuckle, "It does not mean you'll have a short life."

You sighed in relief and smiled warmly as he gazed into your book, moving slightly closer to your body. "At least i hope so."

You jabbed his arm lightly and he smirked in response, your hand still safely in his.

"If it doesn't mean i will die soon, what does it mean then?" you asked impatiently, now sitting on the edge of your seat.

"That, I don't know." you have him a disappointed look and retrieved your hand from his hold.

"Give me yours, now that i now which one is which, it's child's play." you didn't miss him roll his eyes at your comments and grasped his wrist once more. "Your head line is fragmented."

"Nice...?"

"Yeah, nice, it means you'll have moments of revelation. Or mental strife, you choose." you declared confidently, eyes still set on the page.

"I don't think it works like that, you know?" he interjected cockily. You lifted your eyes from the book to catch him staring at it, way closer than before. You felt suddenly extremely hot, as if the sun was inside the room, right next to you, burning your skin.

"How are you two doing? You, my dear, tell me what you see!" Draco stepped back when professor Trelawney approached you and you weren't quite sure whether you were grateful or annoyed because of it. You returned your attention to Draco's palm and began.

"Uhm... i see a great future full of... trials but happiness in the end?" you had no idea what you were saying and apparently Trelawney knew too since she grasped Draco's hand in her own and began scrutinizing it.

"Oh dear... this is not good, not good at all! Misfortunes! Hard times! Oh, your past hasn't been kind but your future might be even worse, unless..."

"Unless what?" you asked alarmingly as Trelawney kept predicting Draco's unfortunate future, but he didn't seem too fazed, keeping his eyes on the bizarre professor.

"Unless another force comes into his life, that is." she said matter-of-factly but your confused expression was enough for her to move her wand in the air and summon a crystal ball directly on the table.

"Give me your hands, my dears, we'll embark on a journey now! Please liberate your minds so that we can explore your future together." you and Draco offered your hands to the professor, who grasped it immediately in her own, giving each other a skeptical look.

You closed your eyes and did your best to 'liberate your mind'. You heard her mutter something under her breath but kept your head blank.

You then opened your eyes and saw Trelawney move closer to the crystal ball to inspect it but as soon as she saw its content, she jumped back, a hand over her heart in shock.

"What happened? What is it?" you asked, more and more curious, and immediately looked down at the ball with Draco who had been imperturbable until then.

You could see nothing in it but swirling liliac smoke and, judging from Draco's expression, he saw the same. You tried looking up at him, hoping to find answers, but were met with more doubts. You both faced professor Trelawney who was still gaping at you two.

Draco was growing annoyed with the whole situation and Trelawney's obvious overreaction, so he took the book from the table and began skimming through it.

"Professor? Is it that bad?" you asked. Trelawney regained some sort of control but did not speak yet.

"Purple smoke is a sign of trouble, says here, so i'd say yes." stated Draco, closing the book with a huff.

"Trouble that can be overcome!" spoke suddenly the professor with her usual prophetic tone, "But that's not all! Dear boy, the things I saw... and you! You, my dear, you are crucial!"

You furrowed your brows as Trelawney's lanky index finger pointed at you.

"I'll be the cause of trouble?"

"On the contrary! You are the solution!" she spoke a little louder, gaining the attention of other students who were still deciphering palms. "And you, mr Malfoy, you'll be the solution to hers!"

Draco opened his mouth to retort, but Trelawney got up from her chair and cheerily muttered, "Superb! Indeed superb!" as she continued her path among other students in need of help.

You turned your head towards the blond beside you, looking pensive in his seat. You were still utterly confused by the professor's words and decided to ask him.

"Do you think she's right?"

"Of course not." your face unconsciously fell a little, "She's mad if she thinks that troubles and sufferings are something superb."

You smiled at the comment and caught his eyes, causing a twin smirk to appear on his face, a face you reckoned was indeed worth the troubles and sufferings you were apparently going to undergo.

//

Taglist <3

@turn-to-page-394-please @gwlvr @dracosaccount @astoria-malfcy @dracomalfoys-wh0re @eunoniaa @cherie-draco @oeuryale @wh0re4blaise @90smalfoy @sanctimoniousslytherpuff @maybesandohnos @dracoswhore007 @macheregrace @paulina1998 @bungunz @malfoysbiitch @dreamy-clousds @malfoyxxdraco23 @saayanaaa @xlauren-malfoyx @riddleswh0r3crux @catching-the-train-to-hogwarts @elevatorsdoor @dracoscene @beforeoursunsets

[if your name is crossed out, check your privacy settings!]

[ibijau]

The Noble Art of Tree Climbing / On AO3

Since he lost his mother, Lan Xichen hasn't felt anything at all, and his cultivation is starting to suffer. His worried uncle decides to take him to the Unclean Realm for a change of air.

It was not a common gift to see the threads of fate between people, but Lan Xichen’s mother had called it a blessing from the heavens when she’d still been alive. She had said it was a sign fate trusted him to be wise enough to deal with that knowledge, and that he would have to be worthy of it. Lan Xichen had promised that he would try, though he wasn’t always sure what that was even supposed to mean.

At that time, all he had really known was that his mother’s thread went out of the Cloud Recesses, and his father bore no thread at all.

It was only after his mother’s death that it had hit him how odd it was for a marriage to have happened between them in spite of this, and even more so for his brother and him to have been born of such an improbable union. He had been told that dual cultivation was necessary for children to be born, and that it could only be practiced with one’s true love. His teachers couldn’t have lied, so clearly his parents had to have been in love, even without a red thread of fate, right?

It often threw Lan Xichen into a pensive state whenever he looked at the thread attached to one of his fingers, or his brother’s thread. Would that fate be enough to make them happy? It clearly hadn’t been enough for their mother, who’d had that melancholy air about her, especially in her last few months, as if even visits from her sons weren’t enough to lift her spirits anymore. But maybe it was just that she had never had the chance of meeting that person at the other end of that thread. Or else, since she didn’t have Lan Xichen’s gift, she hadn’t known that person’s true value, and had gotten roped into another match that did not suit her. Unless it was for that person’s sake that she had committed the crime that Lan Xichen wasn’t supposed to know about, the murder that had caused him and his brother to be born even when they shouldn’t have.

Lan Xichen thought about his mother a lot in the weeks after she passed away. He was not as demonstrative as Lan Wangji about missing her, but the pain was still there and he didn’t know how to deal with it at all. It paralysed him sometimes, and he would spend half a day staring at the red thread on his hand, wondering how different things could have been for his mother, if she had only known better, if she’d gone to that other person, if Wangji and him had never been born. Maybe she would have been happy. Maybe she wouldn’t have died.

Maybe it would have been better for everyone, if Lan Xichen had never existed at all.

Those thoughts became so bad that his grief started to impact his cultivation, which was when Lan Qiren decided to intervene, and to find some distractions for Lan Xichen. He took his nephew along to a few conferences, hoping it might cheer him up. Lan Xichen, dutifully, tried to be entertained by all those old people discussing arcane cultivation techniques or chatting about politics, but it was very boring and just gave him more time to think about his mother. 

He could have tried to go play with the children of those other sects, but grown-ups always praised him when he tried to stay with them and to act serious, so he figured playing would have been a bad thing. He was going to be a sect leader someday, anyway, and he had to be serious. If he wasn’t serious enough, then he’d disappoint his sect, as his father had done. Lan Xichen didn’t want to be a disappointment. And anyway, even when he did try to play with others, he was often too sad, so they would leave him behind and continue their games without him. It was better to stay with the grown-ups.

It went on like this for half a year, Lan Xichen withdrawing further and further upon himself, Lan Wangji stubbornly waiting daily in front of their mother’s prison to see her. Lan Qiren appeared to be at his wit’s end, which only made Lan Xichen feel worse. After having lost his mother, he started worrying that his uncle too would leave them, disappointed that his nephews refused to behave themselves. He tried, hard, to act as if things were fine again, as if he didn’t miss his mother at all, but it was all for naught. Even if he could sometimes fool those who only knew him in passing, his cultivation was still suffering greatly from his too intense grief, and so Lan Qiren knew that things still weren’t right.

Out of other options, Lan Qiren decided that a longer change of habit might do his nephews good. Lan Xichen, privately, thought that it showed their uncle really didn’t understand Lan Wangji at times, because his brother thrived on habits and would be upset over any change. At the same time, Lan Qiren was older and knew better, of course. So Lan Xichen kept any remarks he might have had to himself, and nodded along to his uncle’s idea.

The place where Lan Qiren took them was a far away one, too far in fact for him to have taken Lan Xichen there to conferences before. Lan Qiren wasn’t the strongest of flyers, least of all when he had to carry along a boy of nearly ten years old. And yet he managed, with both his nephews riding his sword with him. Lan Xichen figured his uncle had to be really desperate, and he felt awful for causing so much trouble.

That place had an unpleasant name, an unpleasant look, and the disciples of that sect had an unpleasant air to them, grim and a little rough, completely unlike the people Lan Xichen was used to at home.

Privately, and as soon as he laid eyes upon the Unclean Realm, Lan Xichen found himself hoping that Lan Wangji would throw a tantrum and they’d have to go home soon. If he had to be miserable, he’d rather be miserable in a familiar place.

For the time being, they were welcomed at the gate by a very tall woman, taller than Lan Qiren or any of the disciples of her sect. She was Nie-furen, Lan Qiren explained as she guided them inside the Unclean Realm. The warning was appreciated. She really didn’t look much like the few women Lan Xichen had seen in his life, and wore men’s clothes. If he hadn’t been warned, he might have mistaken her for a man, though he would learn in the coming days that nearly all the women in the Unclean Realm dressed in that manner to be more efficient in Night Hunts. They only wore normal dresses for conferences, and only if they felt like it.

Nie-furen took them to a great hall where, seated upon a high and mighty throne, Nie-zongzhu greeted them with rather less effusions than Lan Xichen was used to from sect leaders, although that sober manner seemed to please Lan Qiren rather more than Jiang-zongzhu and Jin-zongzhu’s warmth.

Grown-ups were rather odd, and Lan Xichen didn’t quite have the capacity to reflect on that at the moment, too fascinated by the sight of Nie-zonghu.

Certainly, there was a lot to be fascinated by, when confronted by such a man. Although he was a little shorter than his wife when he eventually stood up, he was at least twice as broad, with hands so large that they could probably have wrapped around Lan Xichen’s shoulders and still have length to spare. None of that really mattered to Lan Xichen though. What really caught his attention was a detail that others wouldn’t have seen.

Nie-zongzhu had two red threads hanging from his hand.

Upon seeing this, Lan Xichen, who had struggled to feel anything for months and months now, was overcome with irrational anger. How unfair was it for that man to have two people fated to him, when his own parents had been denied such a happy fate? Sure, upon looking more closely, Lan Xichen realised that one appeared to have been severed. It had to have been rather recent, since its colour had only started its slow transformation toward the dull white it would become when the worst of the grief was over. Still, that man had had two fated lovers, when Lan Xichen’s mother had never lived with hers, when his father had been forced to accept the shadow of a love that could never be his.

How very unfair. Lan Xichen would have cried from rage if it wouldn’t have been disgraceful for his sect.

“And how long do you want to stay here then?” Nie-zongzhu asked, continuing a conversation that Lan Xichen hadn’t paid attention to.

“I was thinking a week to start,” Lan Qiren replied. “If it seems to be having positive effects, and if Nie-zongzhu has no objections, I’ll return to the Cloud Recesses and come back in a month or two to get them back.”

Nie zongzhu nodded, as did his wife.

“It’ll be good for our boys as well,” he said. “Huaisang hasn’t been the same either lately… not that I expect your boys to spend much time with him anyway. From what you’ve said about them, I think they’ll get along more with Mingjue, even with the age difference. Which is good too. He needs friends, that child.”

Nie-furen rolled her eyes at these words, and glared at her husband. He glared right back, and though there seemed to be no heat or anger between them, Lan Xichen still shivered at the intensity of emotion displayed there, right in front of outsiders. Things like that just didn’t happen at home, at least not in his experience. But then again, he’d never been in the same room as both his parents, so what did he know?

“Well, I guess that’s settled,” Nie-furen grumbled. “I’ll take those two to the training grounds so you can have a chat about politics. Don’t forget to tell Qiren about that thing that happened the other month at the border, I really didn’t like that.”

Without waiting for an answer, Nie-furen walked to Lan Xichen and Lan Wangji, grabbing both of them by the hand to lead them out of the hall. Lan Wangji tried to pull away, but stopped quickly after one severe look from Nie-furen who probably mistook his disgust for rebellion, the way some teachers did at home. Lan Wangji looked very miserable over being touched that way by a complete stranger, and Lan Xichen knew already that the rest of the day wasn’t going to be a good one for his little brother. He sighed. When Lan Wangji was having a bad day, everyone was having a bad day.

Feeling depressed over this situation, Lan Xichen’s gaze dropped to the ground. After just a few steps, his eyebrows rose high on his forehead as he realised that for some reason, they were following his red thread, something that had never happened before.

After years and years of seeing his own thread go far into the distance, Lan Xichen had stopped paying attention to it. Whenever he’d travelled with his uncle, the thread had always gone in a different direction from the one they were headed. At the venerable age of ten, Lan Xichen had determined that he was never going to meet the person fated for him. Considering his family’s luck with love, and after hearing his uncle’s many complaints on the topic, Lan Xichen usually thought it was for the best.

And yet, in spite of himself, Lan Xichen felt a little excitement start to spike inside his chest the longer they followed his thread. Things had been terrible for so long, but if he could just have one good thing again…

That excitement rose ever higher when Nie-furen called out her sons’ names, and Lan Xichen first laid eyes on Nie Mingjue.

Nie Mingjue was a few years older than him, and a good deal taller too. He had the same hard eyes his mother had, and broad shoulders like his father. Lan Xichen had never really taken the time to wonder what he liked as far as others’ appearance went, but even he could only acknowledge that Nie Mingjue was a very handsome teenager, and one who very obviously already had a golden core. Combined with the things he’d heard here and there people say about Nie gongzi…

To Lan Xichen’s great joy, the red thread on his finger really was going toward Nie Mingjue, which sent his heart racing… until Nie Mingjue was close enough for his hand to be visible, and Lan Xichen realised there was no thread at all attached to the older boy. Instead, his own thread continued going behind Nie Mingjue, and toward another boy who was struggling to run as fast as Nie-gongzi, his round face all red from the effort.

Everything Nie Mingjue was, that boy wasn’t. He was small, a little scrawny, with ears too big for his face and his teeth looked all weird, perhaps because they were a mix of baby teeth, adult ones, and a lot of gaps where the adult teeth hadn’t yet started to grow.

Whatever spark of joy and hope Lan Xichen had felt quickly dissipated upon seeing the person whom fate had chosen for him. He should have known he wouldn’t be so lucky.

“Mingjue, these boys are Lan Huan and Lan Zhan,” Nie-furen announced. “They are the sons of Lan zongzhu, and will be staying here for a little while. I’ll leave them in your care, so be a good host.”

Nie Mingjue nodded nonchalantly, apparently not particularly impressed by his mother’s severe appearance. The same could not be said of the second boy who went very still when Nie-furen turned her attention to him.

“Huaisang, for once, be good as well and don’t cause trouble. Don’t bother them, and don’t create problems when others have decided what game they want to play, or else I’ll deal with you.”

“Yes, mother,” Nie Huaisang mumbled, giving his mother a half hearted bow. “If they’re here, does it mean we don’t have to train today?”

“You lazy boy, of course that’s your only worry!” Nie-furen sighed, trying not to smile. “It will be up to your guest, depending whether they’re interested in a demonstration or not. You’d better put in some real effort if they do.”

Nie Huaisang bowed again, but not quickly enough to hide a grimace. Worse still, when Nie-furen left, Nie Huaisang immediately stuck out his tongue in her direction, which scandalised both Lan boys.

Lan Xichen in particular felt his heart sink. If this was the person who was destined to share his life… it seemed like a fate even worse than his father’s, and it almost made him want to cry. He would have, if not for Nie Mingjue’s presence. He didn’t want to embarrass himself in front of an older boy this accomplished, his pride just wouldn’t survive it.

“Stop being a brat,” Nie Mingjue ordered his brother, lightly slapping the back of Nie Huaisang’s head. This, in turn, made him bite his tongue, hard enough to cry a little.

“Mean! Da-ge is the worst!”

Nie Mingjue shrugged, all of his attention on the Lan brothers. Lan Xichen tried to stand as tall as he could, to make himself look older than he was.

“So, you’re Lan Huan, uh?” Nie Mingjue asked. “My father says he’s seen you at some conferences, and that you’re always very well behaved. He’s always saying we should be more like that. I guess that’s why you’ve been invited here?”

There was something in Nie Mingjue’s tone of voice that seemed to imply that ‘well behaved’ wasn’t a good thing to be. Lan Xichen, who worked so hard to meet all the expectations of his uncle even when he was so constantly sad and empty, felt baffled by the idea. A little embarrassed as well. He so wanted Nie Mingjue to think he was cool too, but apparently he had failed before even having the chance to prove himself.

“Do you know how to fight?” Nie Mingjue asked. “Or are you still too young for that?”

“I’m ten,” Lan Xichen retorted with perhaps a little more annoyance than was really polite. “Of course I know how to fight. But I didn’t bring a sword for a demonstration, and Qinghe Nie uses sabres, so I can’t borrow something to spar with you.”

“As if you’d be good enough to spar with da-ge anyway,” Nie Huaisang claimed, earning himself another light slap on the head from his brother. “What? It’s true! Nobody’s better than you. You can even fight with grown-ups already, and everyone says the Lans are just a bunch of monks that only play music, and…”

“Huaisang, shut up,” Nie Mingjue snapped. “I swear I’ll tell mother if you keep insulting our guests.”

“I’m not insulting… oh. I was rude?”

Nie Mingjue nodded, which made Nie Huaisang look a little awkward.

“Spar with me, Lan Huan” Nie Mingjue decided. “We do have some swords, for training. It’s always good to know how to use more than one weapon. Come with me, we’ll find you something.”

Maybe Lan Qiren had been onto something with his idea of coming to this strange place, because for the first time in ages, Lan Xichen found himself feeling genuinely excited about something. He was going to spar, with an older boy, and one that looked really cool, and who wasn’t even acting like it’d be a chore to practice with someone younger.

It was fun, fighting with Nie Mingjue. The sword Lan Xichen had been given wasn’t great, nothing at all like the one he used at home, but even with an inferior weapon he held his own. Nie Mingjue had the advantage of size, training, and experience, but Lan Xichen’s smaller size could be an advantage too, and he almost landed a few blows, for which Nie Mingjue complimented him.

It had been a long while since a compliment really thrilled him.

They sparred for a long while. Longer perhaps than was quite wise, considering that Lan Xichen hadn’t trained very seriously that past year. Even as he grew tired and started making mistakes, Lan Xichen refused to give up, desperate to absorb every little bit of fun he could while the feeling lasted. He didn’t even mind when Nie Mingjue started pushing him into a corner of the training field, clearly on the verge of winning their friendly fight.

Lan Xichen didn’t mind, but Lan Wangji did.

He was always a bit of an odd child, wary of strangers, protective of family. If Lan Xichen had not been so taken by his match with Nie Mingjue, he would have noticed his brother’s growing distress about the fight, would have seen that Nie Huaisang wasn’t paying attention to Lan Wangji (nor the fight for that matter), that there was no adults around them to check what they were doing. He would have reacted faster when Lan Wangji ran onto the training field, would have deflected Nie Mingjue’s sabre to protect him.

Lan Xichen would have…

He didn’t.

Because it was only a friendly spar, and because Nie Mingjue was so skilled, he managed, just barely, to avoid inflicting any serious injury onto Lan Wangji. Still the little boy now had a bleeding gash on his forearm, spilling blood in a thin but steady flow. 

"I'll take him to the doctor," Nie Mingjue announced, picking up Lan Wangji as if he weighed nothing. It said a lot about Wangji's shock that he didn't try to escape and just kept uselessly pressing his hand on the wound, wailing like a miserable kitten. "Huaisang, stay here with Lan Huan. If someone comes looking for us, tell them what happened."

Nie Huaisang, who'd just trotted toward them when he'd heard shouting, rose on his toes to catch a glimpse of Wangji’s wound. 

"Is he going to die?" he asked. "That's a lot of blood, and mommy says…" 

"Shut up, you're rude again," Nie Mingjue snapped. 

Nie Huaisang flinched and stepped away, falling silent. Nie Mingjue left, all but running away with poor Lan Wangji in his arms while Lan Xichen and Nie Huaisang stood there, watching him disappear. 

When Nie Mingjue was out of view, Nie Huaisang grabbed Lan Xichen's hand and tried to drag him away. 

"Let's go, it's boring here." 

Lan Xichen tried to pull his hand free. He was less difficult than his brother, but they shared a dislike of being touched by strangers, which Nie Huaisang was. Even if they were linked by fate… In fact, because they were linked by fate, because Nie Huaisang had joined their hands that carried that horrible red thread, Lan Xichen was even less inclined than usual to let himself be touched.

“He said to wait here,” he complained, pulling hard to get free, in vain. Nie Huaisang was small and skinny, but he had a strong grip. “We can’t disobey.”

“Yes we can,” Nie Huaisang said. “It’s easy, I disobey all the time. And mother said we had to be good hosts. It’s too boring to stay here, so I’ll take you somewhere more fun. Do you like candies?”

“Sugar is bad for you,” Lan Xichen recited. He did like candies, very much so. His uncle said candies were bad for his health and for his teeth, but his mother always used to give him some anyway.

He hadn’t had any candies since she’d died.

That thought, combined with fear about Lan Wangji’s wound, finished ruining Lan Xichen’s fragile good mood.

“Mommy used to say it’s only bad if you have too much,” Nie Huaisang protested. He pulled again on Lan Xichen’s hand. “Do you like birds?”

The question surprised Lan Xichen. He had never really taken time to wonder if he liked birds or not. Nobody had ever asked before.

“They’re pretty. I guess I like them well enough.”

“I love birds,” Nie Huaisang announced proudly. “Do you want to see a raven’s nest? There’s chicks in it, and they are very ugly, it’s very cute.”

“Things can’t be ugly and cute at the same time.”

“Yes they can. You have to come and see the chicks, and then you’ll understand. Let’s go check on them, please?”

Lan Xichen hesitated. Nie Mingjue had told them to stay where they were, implying that adults would soon come to check on them. After that incident with Wangji, it was almost certain that Lan Qiren would realise his plan was not going to work, and that he would take his nephews back home right away. Lan Xichen wanted to go home. Home was very sad, but it was also very safe, and he didn’t have to feel any big emotions over there.

But if they went home as soon as adults came to fetch them, that meant Lan Xichen would not have a chance to see those raven chicks. It would be upsetting, because then he would spend the rest of his life wondering how any creature could be both ugly and cute.

“Is it very far from here?” Lan Xichen asked.

Nie Huaisang grinned, and pulled again on Lan Xichen’s hand who stopped resisting and followed at last.

“It’s really close,” Nie Huaisang claimed as they walked. “It’s in the gardens by my bedroom. Do you like flowers? We have very nice flowers there. It’s not the best season for it, but dad planted mulberries there for mommy and me. Because of what she called me, you know?”

“You talk a lot,” Lan Xichen mumbled. “Do you need to hold my hand?”

“You could get lost,” Nie Huaisang replied, and then tried to be quiet for a moment.

It was true that Lan Xichen might have gotten lost easily in that place. It felt very different from the Cloud Recesses, with walls and turns everywhere, more a fortress than a place for cultivation. Maybe it was better that Nie Huaisang kept holding his hand. He’d gotten used to it anyway, and already stopped minding. In fact, it was even a little nice. Wangji used to hold his hand a lot when they went places, but his hatred of others’ touch had become too intense in that past year.

“You said it wasn’t very far,” Lan Xichen remarked after a while, growing worried that maybe their escape would be noticed and they’d be punished.

“We’re almost there,” Nie Huaisang insisted. “Just a little further… I had to take a different way than usual so mother wouldn’t see us. This is a secret way she doesn’t know about. You have to promise you won’t tell!”

“You shouldn’t keep secrets from your mother.”

Nie Huaisang shrugged, and kept pulling Lan Xichen forward.

“It’s okay, it’s not actually bad if I keep secrets,” he said. “She’s not my real mother anyway. She’s just dad’s wife.”

“I don’t understand,” Lan Xichen said, which was almost entirely a lie.

He thought he understood, but it couldn’t be that. If it was what he was thinking about, then surely Nie Huaisang wouldn’t speak so freely about it. Things like that… the adults didn’t speak about them, and the children weren’t supposed to know anything at all about them. It was gossip, and gossip was forbidden.

Nobody must have told that to Nie Huaisang, who cheerfully chattered on.

“It’s like this: Mother isn’t my real mother,” he explained. “She married dad when they were both young. Then she had Mingjue, and he’s the real son that matters. But then dad had me with my real mommy, because he met her on a Night Hunt and she was the most beautiful woman in the entire world, and also she called him some very bad words when he acted like an idiot, so he fell in love with her even if he was married. And then… ah, that’s the garden!”

At last, after turning endlessly among grey walls, they had indeed reached a little oasis of green. It was a very pretty little garden, neatly kept and organised around one very tall tree. Lan Xichen guessed the nest had to be somewhere up there.

He badly wanted to see it, now that they had come all that way, but Nie Huaisang was still chatting and it would have been rude to interrupt.

“It was real nice when I lived with mommy and my aunt and uncle,” Nie Huaisang said, walking toward the tree, still pulling Lan Xichen by the hand. “But then a while ago mommy got sick real bad, so dad brought us here because cultivators have better doctors. But then she died anyway, and my uncle didn’t want me back even though I thought he liked me, but actually he didn’t because mom having me when she wasn’t married was real bad? I don’t get it, but it’s what da-ge says must have happened, and da-ge is always right. So dad said I should be taught to be a cultivator, and now I’m stuck here.” 

Nie Huaisang paused for breath and sighed deeply. “I really miss mommy.”

“I miss my mother too,” Lan Xichen said without thinking. “She died last year.”

Nie Huaisang froze, and threw him a terrified look.

“Was I rude again? I didn’t know, or I wouldn’t have talked about mommy.”

Lan Xichen gave the question some consideration before shaking his head.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind. I don’t get to talk about her a lot,” he confessed. “Uncle and her didn’t get along. I think he was very angry at her sometimes, so I don’t want to bother him.”

“Mother is angry at dad about me,” Nie Huaisang said, as if sharing some great wisdom. “Da-ge says mother still likes me, though. But also that I shouldn’t talk too much about my real mommy, and also I shouldn’t call her my real mommy because it hurts mother. Oh! But I’m not angry at your mommy, and you’re not angry at mine. If you want you can tell me about her! And I’ll tell you about mine?”

It was a very tempting offer. Lan Xichen missed his mother so much it hurt every time he thought about her, and he was indeed thinking about her most of the time. He’d always been thinking a lot about her, even before she got sick and died. He’d missed her even when she was alive, he sometimes thought. But he couldn’t have told that to anyone. His father never wanted to see them unless it was important or a holiday, and Lan Qiren really didn’t like hearing anyone talk about his sister-in-law, and Wangji… Wangji still missed her so bad, he still didn’t really understand that she was gone for ever, so Lan Xichen didn’t say anything for fear of making things harder for his brother.

Maybe it was fine to talk to Nie Huaisang.

“She was sick a long time,” Lan Xichen explained, letting his eyes fall to the ground. “But even when she was sick, she would still try to be nice to us. She’d read us stories. Then she got really too sick, and it was me who read stories for her and for Wangji. Then the month after we were told we couldn’t visit her like usual, and I heard people say she’d died.”

“You didn’t live with her?”

“No, of course not,” Lan Xichen said, which earned him a look of horror from Nie Huaisang, as if he’d said his mother had two heads. “Nobody lives with their mother.”

“Yes they do!” Nie Huaisang exclaimed. “I lived with my mommy my whole life until she died! Everyone lives with their mommies. How else is she going to give you a kiss before sleep?”

“She didn’t.”

Nie Huaisang gasped. “But then you’re not protected!”

“Protected against what?”

Nie Huaisang threw Lan Xichen a pitying look, as if that were the saddest thing he’d ever heard.

“Against the nightmares! You have to have a kiss before sleep,” Nie Huaisang explained in a very serious tone, like a teacher giving a lesson, “or else you’re going to have bad dreams. It’s most efficient if it’s your mommy who does it, of course. Dad does it too sometimes, but he’s busy and I don’t like his moustache anyway because it scratches my cheek, and also he doesn’t give as good protection. Now it’s mostly da-ge who gives me a good night kiss. He complains a lot, and he tickles me sometimes, but it’s really good for protecting, almost as good as mommy.”

A little dark ball of cold and hot formed over Lan Xichen’s heart at the idea that in this world, at least one person had had constant access to their own mother, to her hugs, to her kisses, to her soft words. And maybe it wasn’t just Nie Huaisang who’d been that lucky: after all, Nie-furen had welcomed them alongside her husband, she had chatted with Nie Mingjue quite easily, and seemed free to come and go as she pleased even though she was the sect leader’s wife. Maybe it was a Nie thing.

But now that he thought of it, everywhere his uncle had taken him that past year, sect leaders would welcome their guests in person, with their wives at their side if they had one.

Maybe it wasn’t that children living with their mothers was a Nie thing.

Maybe it was Wangji and him not seeing their mother more than once a month that was odd, just as it was odd for their parents to not be linked by fate, the way so many other married people were.

Lan Xichen didn’t know when he started crying. He only realised when Nie Huaisang squeezed his hand, and tried to wipe his face with his sleeve, looking as if he might cry too.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to be rude!” he cried out, scrubbing Lan Xichen’s cheeks a little too hard, unaware of his own strength. “I always say the wrong thing like that. I don’t even understand what I say that’s bad, but people always get angry and say I’m insolent and rude. But I didn’t want to be rude! Can I do something so you’ll stop crying?”

“I miss my mother,” Lan Xichen sobbed.

He’d hoped that talking about her would make it hurt less, but it hadn’t worked. He still missed her as much, but now he also had to deal with the realisation that if his family hadn’t been so strange, he might have seen her a lot more before she died.

“Oh. Then I guess it’s okay to cry,” Nie Huaisang said, giving up on drying Lan Xichen’s face and instead squeezing his hand again. “I cry a lot too about mommy. Everyone says I shouldn’t, because it was long ago and because boys shouldn’t cry. But da-ge lets me cry and he doesn’t tell anyone. I won’t tell either, I promise!”

Lan Xichen tried to thank Nie Huaisang, but only ended up sobbing harder. His face was awash with tears and snot, his eyes and throat hurt from crying so hard, but he couldn’t stop. He didn’t want to stop. Except for the day he’d heard his mother had died, and a little at the funeral too, he hadn’t really cried in all that time. He’d just felt numb and cold. He’d felt as if nothing really mattered, not in a world where his mother wasn’t there to smile at him anymore.

After such a long time feeling so little, there was a twisted joy in giving in to his sorrow, in crying until there were no tears left in him, until he couldn’t even stand anymore and Nie Huaisang had to help him sit under that big tree.

The whole time Lan Xichen cried, Nie Huaisang stayed silent. He shed a few tears of his own, either out of sympathy or because he’d been reminded that his mother too was gone for good, but didn’t say a word.

He also didn’t let go of Lan Xichen’s hand, not even one moment, even though there was no risk of getting lost now. Lan Xichen was grateful for that. In the midst of the immense sorrow that had finally overcome him, it was nice to know he wasn’t alone.

After a long, long while, Lan Xichen calmed down at last. He was hiccuping a little, and felt a little bit of headache on his forehead, but other than that he felt better than he had in a long while. Not good, not yet, but better.

“It was a good big cry,” Nie Huaisang said when it was over. “Sometimes, you need a good big cry, da-ge says. Do you want to go back now?”

Lan Xichen wiped his face clean, or as close to clean as it was ever going to be without some fresh water to help.

It was already late, he figured, and by then people had to have noticed they had disobeyed Nie Mingjue’s order to stay put. They were going to be punished for that. Lan Xichen didn’t like being punished, but he also felt that since it was going to happen anyway, he might as well try to make it worth the future discomfort.

“I think I’d like to see those baby ravens now,” he told Nie Huaisang, who grinned as if he’d been given all his favourite candies at once.

“Yes! But we’ll have to climb up the tree. Do you know how?”

Lan Xichen shook his head. Tree climbing wasn’t part of the official curriculum of Gusu Lan.

“It’s fine, I’ll teach you,” Nie Huaisang offered. “I’m very good at it, because da-ge taught me how.”

“He seems like a good da-ge,” Lan Xichen remarked as he stood up.

“There’s no better da-ge in the whole entire world,” Nie Huaisang agreed. “He is always grumpy, but he gives me hugs and also he lets me have all his mushrooms and sometimes he shares his desserts with me. If you want, I can share him with you. But he’s my da-ge first, so don’t forget!”

“Don’t worry, I won’t steal him,” Lan Xichen promised, though he would have dearly liked a hug, and also maybe some dessert.

For the time being, Lan Xichen contented himself with Nie Huaisang’s explanation on how to climb a tree. It turned out that it wasn’t too hard, especially not for someone with martial art training, so Lan Xichen quickly got the hang of it and followed Nie Huaisang high up that tree.

The raven chicks really were extremely ugly, but Lan Xichen had to admit that they were also strangely cute. Nie Huaisang and him were laughing together about it when Nie-Furen and Lan Qiren found them. They’d been sitting on a branch for so long that it was very nearly night, and they had to be rescued. Nie Huaisang might have been very good at climbing trees, but it turned out that he still hadn’t learned how to get back down except by falling, or by having his brother climb up to get him. 

Since Nie Mingjue wasn’t there, it had to be Lan Qiren who went up to grab them. He looked very cross about it, which scared Lan Xichen at first. Then he noticed that Nie Huaisang was struggling not to giggle, and… and it was true that Lan Qiren was making a very funny face as he went up the tree, so Lan Xichen found himself laughing as well.

They were both still laughing when they hopped down from Lan Qiren’s shoulders onto the ground. Surely this insolence, combined with their earlier disobedience of Nie Mingjue’s order, should have gotten them punished. Indeed Nie-furen appeared in favour of that, but Lan Qiren looked at his nephew in a funny way before asking Nie-furen for leniency.

“I haven’t heard him laugh in all that time,” Lan Qiren explained, and immediately Nie-furen’s anger cooled down a little.

Maybe it wasn’t so bad in the Unclean Realm after all, Lan Xichen thought as they all walked away together to go have dinner. And maybe it would be okay that he was apparently linked by fate to someone like Nie Huaisang.

Lan Xichen was glad when his uncle told him that night before bed that since Lan Wangji’s wound was nothing bad at all, that their plan hadn’t changed and they would be staying a little while in the Unclean Realm for a change of air.

After all, Nie Mingjue had just promised Huaisang, Wangji, and him that he’d teach them how to climb down from trees, and that would surely be great fun.

[the-truest-sentence-i-know]

By Candlelight

(Christmas Holidays in the Gryffindor Girls’ Dorms, pt. 15)

Fandom: Harry Potter

Characters: Ginny Weasley x Luna Lovegood (Linny)

Rating: Explicit (it’s a PWP)

Summary: Luna asks Ginny what she thinks of candles; Ginny discovers she fucking loves candles [waxplay; light bondage; facesitting; scissoring; sex toys]

Word Count: 1.9k | 15/?

ao3 ||| wattpad ||| ff.net ||| quotev

“What are your thoughts on candles?” Luna asked out of the blue.

“Like, aesthetically?” Ginny replied.

The two were sitting in the Great Hall, hanging out after lunch and Luna had been gazing up at the floating candles for the past ten minutes. She shrugged.

“I’ve always liked how wax looks, running down the candle, dripping on things.” She looked over at Ginny. “I think it would complement your skin tone quite nicely.”

Ginny stared, as always a little surprised about the way in which Luna decided to say things. Not exactly subtle, but not entirely direct. “Are you… asking me what I think you’re asking me?”

“If I were, what would your response be?”

A slight grin pulled at Ginny’s lips. She was always down to try new things, even – or maybe especially – when they were new kinky things. “My response would be: absolutely, your place or mine, and where are we getting the candles?”

Luna smiled. “I think I have everything we need in my dorm.” She rose to leave.

Ginny was up in the second and followed her out of the hall, sending a mischievous wink to Pansy, who had been watching them curiously from the Slytherin table.

Luna had an impressive collection of both candles and sex toys hidden in her dorm room. Ginny poked through it while Luna surveyed the scene like she was going to set up an art display.

“So, where do you want me?” Ginny asked.

Luna stepped over to her and kissed her softly. “Clothes off, on the bed, restrained with…” Another kiss, pensive. “Rope.”

“You wanna help me with the clothes off part?” Ginny asked, pulling her in to deepen the kiss.

“Gladly,” Luna murmured into the kiss as Ginny crowded her against the dresser. While Luna worked on her blouse buttons, Ginny kicked off her shoes and tugged down her skirt, letting it fall to the floor.

Through their combined efforts, Ginny soon stood naked, pressed against Luna. She let herself be laid down on the bed and watched as Luna bound first her right, then her left wrist to the bed.

“Maybe you should give me a strap too,” Ginny said as Luna stood back to look over her work. “For when I fuck you after.”

“Who’s to say I won’t be the one fucking you,” Luna asked, with such confidence in her soft voice that it nearly took Ginny’s breath away.

This was a side of Luna she had to get more of.

Luna crossed to the other side of the bed to her drawer of toys and began to undress. She didn’t make a show of it, but that almost made it worse for Ginny; all that skin, casually bare and just out of reach.

Candles had been arranged all around the room and with a flick of her wand, Luna lit them. She then charmed a few to hover near the bed, within easy reach.

Only then did she direct her attention to Ginny. She took a blindfold from the drawer and held it up for Ginny to see, a question in her eyes.

Ginny nodded vigorously. “Absolutely.”

Luna smiled and hopped onto the bed, straddling Ginny’s waist and leaning over her, to tie it in place.

“You wanna keep me quiet too?” Ginny asked, only half-joking. “Cloth gag? Ball gag?”

“Now, why would I want to keep you quiet?” Luna pressed a quick kiss to her lips before sitting back and reaching out to grab a candle. “Remind me of your safeword?”

“Flobberworm,” Ginny said.

“You changed it,” Luna observed, shifting back slightly, straddling at Ginny’s hips.

“Well, I couldn’t exactly have it be Ravenclaw when you’re the one that’s got me tied–” Her words were interrupted by a gasp as Luna let a small stream of wax drip down onto Ginny’s stomach. Ginny whined a little but quickly relaxed again when the wax began to cool.

Luna watched with fascination as the wax congealed into an opaque shape against Ginny’s skin. “Alright?” she asked.

Ginny nodded. Feeling anticipation build inside her. Her world was dark, and she had to go off of her remaining four senses. Luna’s weight straddling her, the skin of her thighs, soft tickle of her pubic hair, and the telltale wetness seeping through.

When the next bit of hot wax came, more than before, up her stomach and between her breasts, Ginny’s back arched and she cried out.

Luna’s cool hand soothed her, fingers tracing around the wax, almost reverent on her skin. She pressed a light kiss to each nipple and even though Ginny was prepared, she couldn’t stifle the cry when the hot wax came down on the left one a few moments later. She gripped the ropes that bound her wrists tightly, feeling sweat form on her face and her breathing grow rapid.

Luna made soothing noises as she watched the wax form a sort of cap over Ginny’s nipple, preserving its hardened state. She made sure to press a few kisses to her other breast, even flicking the nipple a few times – Ginny was so reactive in this state of heightened anticipation – to make sure it too was hardened when she covered it in wax.

Ginny tried to bite her lip this time, the cry coming out as a whine. “Please,” she begged, panting. “Luna.”

“Any particular spots you don’t want me to miss?” Luna asked, playfully.

Ginny huffed a laugh as she tried to catch her breath.

“Are you alright?” Luna was more serious now, looking at the spots around the wax that were reddening.

“Yeah,” Ginny said, still a bit breathless. “Just wanna make sure I’ll be coming after this.”

“I would never dream of doing anything different.” She got off of Ginny and knelt between her legs, pushing them apart. “Because this is our first time trying this,” she said. “I’ll avoid anything too sensitive.” She drew a few fingers through Ginny’s folds and they came away wet. “Besides, they’ll get the attention they need later.”

She let a candle drip wax on Ginny’s thigh, a bit above the knee, and watched how it ran down to the sheets. Ginny winced with a slight gasp. The next bit of wax went a little higher up her leg, and so on, each one getting a bit more of a reaction from Ginny. Luna smiled at how the lines were being drawn on her inner thighs, like a meter of the sounds Ginny made.

When the drips of wax began to get caught up in the well-trimmed shock of red hair between Ginny’s legs. Luna set the candle aside and surveyed her handiwork. She was right about the wax complementing Ginny’ skin tone. Ginny still had a bit of her summer tan, so the wax showed up beautifully. Another time, perhaps Luna would be more deliberate about the designs, make Ginny into even more of a piece of art. But fore now, this was enough. She could feel how the anticipation had shuddered through Ginny’s body, how it and the hot wax had made her this hot, sweaty, and desperate to orgasm mess. She traced every bit of wax with her fingers, then her lips. Ginny sighed and began to relax, except for her hips, which twitched up every so often, seeking some kind of friction.

“Have I been…” Luna pressed two fingers into Ginny. “Neglecting you?” She rubbed her thumb lightly over Ginny’s clit.

Ginny gasped, hips moving with more urgency as she tried to have Luna further inside her. Not at – fuck – all.”

“Well, then.” Ginny pumped her fingers in and out leisurely. “You won’t mind if I decide to come first.” She pulled her fingers out of Ginny, who whined at the loss. “I promise I’ll make it worth your while.”

Ginny nodded. “Whatever you want, Luna. Just… please.”

Luna moved up Ginny’s body until she knelt over Ginny’s face.

“Yes,” Ginny said, starting to move her head up to find Luna’s pussy, but there was no need as Luna slowly sank onto her face.

With the blindfold over her eyes and her face between Luna’s legs, all of Ginny’s attention was focused on a single thing: making Luna feel as good as possible. She strained against the ropes tying her wrists, wishing she could touch Luna, touch her hips, her thighs. But she didn’t mind how Luna rode her face like its sole purpose was to give her pleasure.

And give Ginny certainly did, with her lips and tongue and just a hint of teeth, until Luna, hands gripping the headboard and knees planted on either side of Ginny’s head, was coming – and hard. Ginny drank in as much of her cum as she could, the fluid coating her lips and chin before Luna rolled off of her.

They lay beside each other for a moment, panting, before Luna leaned over to free Ginny’s wrists. She immediately pulled off the blindfold and moved to wipe off her face, but Luna stopped her and kissed her deeply. Ginny smiled against her mouth and rolled them over so she was on top. Then she pulled back a bit, leaning over Luna, and found her attention elsewhere. Luna reached out with a finger and prodded at Ginny’s wax-encased nipples. She then traced the other cool wax shapes on her chest and stomach that had started to break and chip off with her movement.

“You really liked how you’ve marked me up, huh?” Ginny asked.

Luna nodded, without a hint of embarrassment or smugness. “Making a mark on a lover, whether physical or not, is very gratifying and arousing.”

“Speaking of gratifying,” Ginny said. “I believe you said something about making it worth my while?”

“Don’t worry,” Luna said. “I will.” She reached out to her drawer, straining a little so she didn’t have to get up, and came back with a small egg-shaped vibrator. “I believe you know what this does?”

Ginny grinned. “Intimately.”

Ginny let Luna direct her exactly where she wanted her and was very glad she did so. Between the pulsing vibrator inside her and Luna’s pussy grinding against her own, she could do little more than lie there, moving her hips and watching Luna’s soft, arching movements and curves.

Because Luna seemed to have her all figured out. She knew how to tease her without making her too desperate, knew how to put on a good show, arching her back and throwing her head back to moan. And she somehow knew that the feeling of the wax being peeled off of her nipples, followed by her soft fingers would be the thing to have Ginny’s eyes finally close, tearing them away from Luna’s figure.

One setting higher on the vibrator and a few hard hip rolls sent Ginny into a toe-curling orgasm, full-body shudders rolling over her as Luna watched with undivided interest.

Quite well spent, Ginny pulled Luna down onto her to press lazy kisses to every bit of skin she could reach.

“I’m gonna miss this when classes start again,” she murmured.

“Just because the holidays are ending, doesn’t mean all this has to as well,” Luna said.

“Yeah, I know,” Ginny said. “But this, having sex whenever, will be a lot harder when everyone’s back, and we have classes again.”

Luna nodded. “Well, we shall have to come up with a sufficient goodbye to these two weeks, to celebrate the time we’ve all shared.”

“I agree,” Ginny said. “But not right now. Now there are…” She rolled them over and began trailing wet open-mouthed kisses down Luna’s neck. “… More pressing matters to attend to.”

[sisterspooky1013]

Only One Choice, Chapter 3

Read it here on AO3 / Tagging @today-in-fic

A week passes, and her interaction with Agent Mulder fades into the recesses of her memory. She files it away under “times a cute guy hit on me,” alongside overly friendly waiters and optimistic students.

She and Ethan’s anniversary is coming up next week and she’s been grappling with the best gift to get him; something practical or indulgent? He is a prolifically thoughtful gift-giver and she feels pressure on each special occasion to select the perfect thing to give him, though the pressure comes only from herself. She’s contemplating this as she finishes up an autopsy, replacing the organs in the chest cavity and suturing up the Y-incision.

“Dana,” the pathologist about to come on shift calls out to her, “someone is asking for you.”

“I’ll just be about ten minutes, Trudy. Who is it?” she returns, gently settling the young woman’s liver back into her body.

Trudy shrugs. “Tall guy in a suit, cute, dark hair.”

She feels a flutter in her belly and then immediately chastises herself.

“Tell him I’ll be right there, please.”

She apologizes internally to the decedent as she rushes through the final steps, not taking quite as much care as she typically does.

After scrubbing her hands and fixing her hair, she steps into the hallway to find Agent Mulder sitting on a bench. His back is against the wall, his long legs crossed casually as he studies the art hung opposite him. He looks so composed and confident it unnerves her.

“Agent Mulder, what can I do for you?” she asks, forcing confidence she does not feel into her own voice.

The smile that lights up his face when he turns to look at her makes her flush, and she can feel the heat in her cheeks. Being unable to hide her emotional response behind her fair complexion has always been something she resents.

“Scully, good to see you. I wanted to follow up on the Dugan case, you said you were interested in understanding the motivation behind your autopsy findings,” he says as he stands and walks towards her, his tall frame looming above her such that she has to look up at his face. He stands close enough that she can smell his aftershave and see the stubble coming in on his cheeks.

“Oh, yes, I was curious about that,” she replies, taking a deep breath to steady her nerves. Why does this man make her so nervous?

“If you’d like, you can meet with the lead behavioral analyst on the case. They can tell you how they drew parallels between the wound pattern you observed and the perpetrator profile,” he offers, a slight tilt to his head as his green eyes jump around her face as though he’s trying to commit it to memory.

“That would be great, thank you. You really didn’t have to do that,” she replies self-consciously, feeling as though she asked for something she shouldn’t have, even though she’d never requested this.

“Do you have time today?” he asks, lifting his wrist to glance at his watch. She knows it’s just past 4 pm.

“Um, yes, actually, I’m done with classes for the day and that was my last autopsy. I was just going to do paperwork for a bit, but I can defer it until tomorrow.”

A small smirk flashes on his mouth, but quickly disappears.

“Alright, why don’t you meet them at that cafe you mentioned in, say, thirty minutes?” he asks.

“Okay, that should work,” she replies, “what’s their name, so I can find them?” She should have just about enough time to change and get there by 4:30.

His eyebrows lift as though he just realized he forgot something, and he pauses before continuing.

“Uh, Fox. His name is Fox. I’ll describe you to him, he’ll find you.”

“Fox?” she asks dubiously, “is that a real name?”

He purses his lips. “Sadly, yes.”

“Alright, well, thank you, Agent Mulder. It was, um...it was good to see you again.” She extends her hand with her chin held high, trying to portray an air of professionalism and not one of a girl with a crush, which is how he makes her feel.

He takes her hand and smiles at her warmly, a little something coy behind his eyes.

“Likewise. I hope to see you again very soon,” he says confidently, and she feels her belly tumble yet again.

——————————————————————————

He stands in the hallway until Scully disappears into the staff locker room, then books it over to Cafe Adamo to get a quiet table in the corner. He’s not sure exactly what he’s after here; she has a boyfriend after all. He just hasn’t been able to get her out of his head all week. When the lead analyst on the Dugan case had a family emergency and needed to take leave, he jumped at the opportunity to take over the case, getting a little thrill from reading over her report and incorporating it into his profile. It felt as though they were creating something together.

He watches the clock, a pit in his belly as he wonders how she’ll react to learning that he tricked her into having coffee with him. He barely knows her, but gets the sense that she doesn’t take shit from anyone. That is, in fact, what draws him to her. Well, that and those plush pink lips. He hasn’t been this affected by anyone since he and Valerie split.

When the door swings open and she steps through in fitted jeans and a black T-shirt, he feels a wave of nausea. She’s even more beautiful in street clothes than she was in scrubs, her tiny waist curving up into a modest bustline. She scans the room and when her eyes fall on him, she quirks her head to the side and her eyebrows knit in confusion. His heart starts to pound and he stays glued to his seat, watching her traverse the room until she reaches him and gives him an expectant look.

He holds out his hand. “Fox Mulder,” he says with a guilty smile, and she lifts her chin before tucking it to her chest, taking his hand with a pensive expression.

“I see,” she says, her tone skeptical. It’s clear that she is unsure of his intentions.

“I am the lead behavioral analyst on this case, for the record. I am now, anyway,” he offers, and watches her doubt deepen. What the hell did he think was going to happen, catfishing an unavailable woman into a date? “Will you sit?” he asks hopefully, and she does, though he can tell by her posture that she is one wrong move away from fleeing the scene.

Someone comes by and takes their coffee order, and he sets his profile on the table, getting right to the reason he asked her here lest she think he’s completely full of shit.

“You noted that the victim was stabbed repeatedly in the exact same location, giving the appearance of one wound,” he explains, “we’ve seen something similar with the other victims, and at this time my theory is that the perp lost someone close to them in this manner, perhaps a family member or parent. I believe they’re re-creating the injury that killed their loved one, though because these crimes are so rage-fueled they feel compelled to injure the victim more extensively than just the one wound. The repeated stabbing in the same location provides an outlet for that rage while preserving the one-wound injury that is the cause of death.”

She reads over his profile with interest, nodding along as he speaks. “That’s very interesting,” she says, lifting her head to look at him, and he feels a swell of pride at her praise. “You had to trick me into getting coffee with you to tell me that?” she adds flatly, and now it’s him who is blushing.

She smiles victoriously at having made him uncomfortable, a bright, dazzling, toothy smile, and he’s overwhelmed by how attracted he is to her. He opens his mouth to speak, but closes it again and just shrugs.

Their coffee is delivered and he watches intently as she licks at the foam on her cappuccino. Her blue irises dart up to meet his and he startles at having been caught, picking up his own cup and taking a big gulp that burns the roof of his mouth.

“Your name sounds very familiar,” she begins, “why do I feel like I’ve heard it before?”

“Uh, I had a bit of a reputation at one time,” he says with a regretful tone. “Are you familiar with the X files?”

Her eyebrows lift in surprise. “Spooky Mulder,” she says with realization, “that’s where I’ve heard your name.”

He grimaces. “Not my favorite nickname, but yes, guilty as charged.”

“But you’re in the BSU now? Not on the X files anymore? I’m surprised I’ve never seen you around Quantico,” she remarks, and he can see her relaxing a bit.

“No, the X files division was shut down a couple years ago. I was in the BSU before I reopened the X files, and transferred back after I was reassigned. I’m part of a small BSU team that works out of the Hoover building, so I’m not down here all that often these days.”

“Why was the X files division shut down?” she asks before licking more foam from the rim of her mug, and he shifts in his seat.

“Well, how much time do you have?” he asks with a shy smile, “it’s a long story.”

She returns his smile. “Not that much time. So you’re into aliens and all that paranormal stuff?”

“Well, let me ask you this, Scully,” he says, leaning in, “do you believe in the existence of extraterrestrials?”

She gives him an incredulous look, but answers. “Logically, I’d have to say no.” He nods and sits back, but she continues. “Given the distances needed to travel from the far reaches of space, the energy requirements would exceed a spacecraft’s capabilities…”

“Conventional wisdom,” he interrupts, “I just happen to disagree with it.”

“On what basis?” she asks, curious but not derisive, which is what he’s used to getting in response to his theories.

“If you’d seen what I’ve seen, Scully, you’d understand why I believe in such extreme possibilities.”

She tilts her head expectantly. “Do tell, Agent Mulder. Or should I call you Fox?” she asks with a haughty tone, though a playful one, and he blushes again.

“Please, it’s just Mulder. I even make my parents call me Mulder. I’m sure you can understand why with a first name like Fox.” She makes a face that says she can’t argue with that, and he continues. “I’ve seen things, Scully, things that defy all logic and can’t be explained by the laws of science. Repeat abductees, men who can stretch their bodies and travel through the slats of a heater vent, prehistoric monsters dwelling in the woods.” She’s giving him a doubtful expression, one eyebrow cocked suspiciously. He laughs a little. “I know I sound crazy, but it’s just crazy enough to be true. When convention and science offer us no answers, might we not finally turn to the fantastic as a plausibility?”

She screws up her mouth, politely suppressing the “you are certifiably nuts” expression that wants to present on her face. He’s used to it, and takes no offense.

“What I find fantastic, Mulder, is any notion that there are answers beyond the realm of science. The answers are there, you just have to know where to look,” she says in a tone that is both playful and sincere.

He smiles at her, sure he looks like a total dope. This conversation is more intellectually stimulating than any he’s had in months.

“You should come see the X files sometime, Scully. Tell me how you make scientific sense of what you see.”

“You have them?” she asks with wide eyes.

He shrugs guiltily. “I may have acquired a few on my way out.”

Her head dips lower in disbelief. “Is that allowed?”

“No, definitely not,” he answers with a chuckle. If only she knew the extent of his flaunting of bureau policy during his time on the X files.

She smiles at him in a way that he can only interpret as openly flirtatious, an acknowledgement that she finds his insubordinate behavior a little bit enticing. As suddenly as the smile appears, it vanishes and she checks her watch.

“I’m sorry, I have to go,” she says as she stands.

“Right, you’ve got somebody waiting for you,” he says with a regretful tone.

She looks at him guiltily, then thanks him for the coffee and leaves. He sits there for a long while, staring at the door she exited through.

“Shit,” he says aloud to no one.

[memes-in-a-half-shell]

Business AU - Working Late, Part 6

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

Just two cuties learning more about eachother ooohhh u___u 💜

Help, I’m getting too involved in this fic fsdfhsjfbsd

They had agreed to meet at Vee’s apartment building at around 6:30-7:00pm, exchanging phone numbers for easier communication. They had yet to know where they’d spend the evening on this Saturday, but knowing New York was full of surprises, it wouldn’t be hard to find something to do.

Vee was franctically moving back and forth from her bedroom to the bathroom, trying so hard to find anything good to wear. ... They should’ve decided on an activity, dammit. Now she didn’t know if it would be wiser to wear a dress, or something more casual? As her hands were shovelling through clothes in her closet, she heard her phone beep to life, signaling a notification. Glancing at the time, it was barely over 6pm. It was a text from Donnie, to which she couldn’t help raising a brow:

Her lips were pursed in a thin line, answering anyway:

She put her phone away. He wasn’t supposed to get here in at least thirty minutes to an hour, so there was no rush.

*BZZZZT*

She jumped when the door buzzer rang. Her frown was formed in an instant, running to her intercom and cracking it to life.

“Yes?”

“I was curious ‘cause I wanted to come up and see where you live!” responded Donnie’s voice through the intercom.

“What are you doing here? It’s only 6pm!”

“I figured it’d be a good excuse to come up to your place.”

“Donatello you are one sneaky bastard,” sighed Vee. “... Alright, come on up.”

As soon as she unlocked the main entrance downstair, that’s when she realized that she was still only in her underwear. She panicked for a couple of seconds, allowing some time for him to enter the building, then running to her room and grabbing any pieces of clothing she could find; a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. Almost falling in her rush, she then rushed to her entrance, opening the door in a hurry. She met face to face with Donnie, the mutant’s hand in a motion to knock, but promptly stopped. His eyes were wide as he noticed her a panting mess.

“... I guess it wasn’t such a good idea afterall,” he chuckled.

“Let’s just say you took me by surprise. I still have yet to decide what I’m gonna wear.”

She moved, gesturing him to come in. As he passed by, she glanced at his look. He was rather casual for the occasion; a pair of blue jeans and a black shirt, not entirely buttoned at the top, giving a slight sight to his plastron.

“Looking at you, now I finally have a better idea of what to wear,” she pointed out. “At least that’s good.”

As she walked to him, she vaguely gestured the surroundings: “Welcome to my oversized closet. One bedroom, one bathroom, the rest is the living space connected to the kitchen. ... This must look like a tiny shithole to you.”

Donnie tsked: “Don’t be so hard on this place, it has its charms! I think it looks nice. ... It suits you in terms of taste.”

“Most of the furniture is second-hand, which is cheaper most of the time,” added Vee, going towards her bedroom. “I wouldn’t say it’s one hundred percent my taste, but at least it fills the space. ... This place is tiny, but good enough for me.”

As she was about to close her door, she did peak back at Donnie, flashing him a smile: “Make yourself at home, I’ll be ready in no time.”

The terrapin took that as an invitation to look around the place. To be frank, he did arrive earlier in order to do such thing. He always thought that a person’s environment could tell so much about them. Overall the place was tidy, with the exception of a few books here and there and some papers and pencils layed on a coffee table. She had a bookshelf completely filled, books about various subjects neatly placed and organized. An electric piano was resting against a wall, various partitions showing on a music stand close by. There were some art and pictures decorating the space - but none were showing people, even relatives if any... He also noticed a faint smell of coffee in the air, judging that she must have brewed some earlier. There was this sense of coziness, something only a small and well-thought apartment could give, and it definitely did suit her well.

Vee’s bedroom door opened, revealing the woman in much proper clothes. Both smiled, Vee playfully adding:

“I figured I’d bring the curse back.”

She had also opted for jeans, her upper body adorning a black tank top and a black blazer over it.

“At least you have more style than me,” added the turtle.

“Nonsense,” Vee scolded in a fake tone, giving a playful slap on his arm as she passed by, going to the kitchen area. “You don’t look so bad yourself.”

She got two glasses out of a cupboard, showing them to Donnie: ‘‘Water? ... I don’t have anything else fancy to drink.”

“Water is good,” he smiled, leaning against the kitchen island.

He really didn’t know why, but looking at her go in her own environment was making him happy. It felt much more intimate to see her at ease and relaxed...

“So, what did you have in mind for this evening?” she asked, setting the glasses down and offering one to him.

He took a sip, looking pensive for a moment.

“We can definitely grab a quick bite somewhere, theeennnn...” He looked around quickly, then pointing the piano. “You like music? What genre?”

Vee shrugged: “Pretty much anything, but I do have a preference for classical and jazz. Why?”

“We could definitely drop at a jazz club then! I know some interesting places in Midtown.”

“I’m down for it then, monsieur,” smirked the woman.

***

They had opted first to go to a small local café, indulging themselves to some coffee and simple food. There was no need to be fancy-pantsy, prefering the intimacy and coziness of this small place. To be frank, it was the perfect setting for some casual conversation, finally taking the time to get to know eachother further more.

To quench Donnie’s curiosity, Vee explained why she moved to New York city. She felt like she had been facing a wall for too long back in Montréal. A lot of things had gone wrong in her personal life, her career seemed to go nowhere. All she wanted at some point was to run away. Start from scratch and be on her own... She had visited New York a couple of times before and had been in love with the city ever since. It only felt natural that she’d want to move there - knowing big cities were at least familiar to her, yet she could experience new things out of it. Her family had been furious about her choices, but she chose to stick to it and moved without any help. She found her apartment and her job all by herself. She handled all sorts of paperwork herself regarding her move. She wanted to be alone. She wanted to prove herself that she could make such a huge leap in her life.

As for Donnie, without going into much details, he explained how the Hamato Enterprise came to be. After his father’s death, he and his brothers joined forces and decided to reveal themselves to the world - with the help of some key figures in the city. Their knowledge of New York and its pulse proved to be a tremendous help for developping tactics and plans to advance the city’s security and good life of its people. It was still not perfect - how could it ever truly be anyway? - but the turtles had New York and its denizens at heart, and they would do anything to safeguard it. They had attracted good and bad attention on them over the years, but that never distracted them from their goals to bring out the best out of this city.

Vee could admire the intentions, although she did raise concerns in regards to judging what could be “best” for the city. There were too many variables that would never allow a perfect “cookie-cutter” plan for peace. Donnie was well aware of that and it was something he had personally raised to his brother Leonardo - who was mostly in charge of security matters. Sacrifices had to be made at times for the people’s sake, but at least the four brothers’ different points of view helped painting various scenarios into shades of grey, rather than in a fully black and white picture.

Done with their meal, the duo proceeded towards Midtown. The evening was warm and the streets colorful. Energy and life were coursing through every corners of the city, truly reminding that New York was indeed the city that never sleeps. They found solace in a jazz club inbetween other venues. There was already a good crowd seated there, so they both found their place towards the back of the room, although they still got a nice view on the stage. A band was already playing, setting a smooth ambiance to the scene. After they ordered some drinks to their table, Vee made herself more comfortable as she removed her blazer, revealing her tank top, as well as the tattoo adorning her upper left chest part.

“Oh nice,” started Donnie as he took a better look at it. “I did notice your tattoo by some occasions, but it’s the first I’m seeing it fully!”

“Yeah, sorry, it’s starting to get hot in here.”

“No need to be sorry for anything, I enjoy the sight,” winked the terrapin. “How many tattoos do you have?”

“Let’s see...,” quickly pondered the woman. She quickly gestured or tapped whichever part she was mentionning afterward: “One at each legs - ankle level. Both wrists, on the insides. Inner left forearm. On the ring finger of my right hand. Behind my right shoulder. Do I need to still go on?”

“I’m guessing you want more of them?”

“Oh absolutely,” smiled Vee. “Hopefully I can get both my arms fully covered at some point.”

“I could probably help with that.”

The woman couldn’t help her small frown, slightly curious.

“How so?”

“I know how to tattoo! I did my brothers’ tattoos.”

She hummed in approval, her eyes wide with interest, as well as lightly tapping his nearby forearm by absolute delight.

“Well, well, well. Have I known, I would have asked for that instead of a date!”

“Oh come on, is this evening going so bad right now?” teased Donnie.

“I’m joking,” reassured Vee, her smile soft. “I’m having a really nice time so far.”

Her hand remained on his arm, lightly stroking his scales. Her eyes drifted back to the scene, watching the musicians play. She rarely had the time to watch any live performances nowadays, so this experience was most definitely welcomed this evening.

“I’ll never get tired of music...,” she started dreamily. “It’s been my first real passion and it might forever be so.”

“I suspect you play the piano, since I’ve seen one back at your place,” inquired Donnie.

“I’ve been learning it by myself for so many years now. My main instrument though is the Alto Saxophone and I’ve been singing as well. I do compose in my spare time too.”

“I’m curious about all of that now. When can I hear one of your masterpieces?”

She squinted her eyes in amusement as she glanced back at the turtle.

“In due time, dear. But for now let’s enjoy the music already available to us.”

In answer, Donnie simply moved his arm so his hand could rightfully hold Vee’s, their fingers interlacing - threes and fives. They spent the whole show like this, forever enjoying eachother’s presence. How could this evening be even better than this?

***

“I still can’t believe that last band that played. I’ve never heard a saxophone squeak so much in one performance. It was so bad!” laughed Vee.

“You should’ve gone up on stage and steal the show. That would’ve been fun,” teased Donnie.

“Oh no, no, no!” quickly replied the woman. “This city is not ready yet to hear my talent.”

Her tipsy state did bring more fun into the conversation, Vee holding onto Donnie’s arm as they were heading toward’s her apartment building. She still had all her mind, but her mood was light and happier than usual, definitely on a cloud. As they stopped to the main entrance’s door, Vee couldn’t help tracing a finger over the visible parts of the mutant’s plastron.

“... Wanna come upstair for another glass of water?” she asked.

Donnie showed half of a smile, slightly shaking his head.

“No, I’m good. ... I don’t think it’d be a good idea to go up with you.”

“How so? I’m bad company?”

“No, you’re an excellent one, in fact....”

A shiver passed through Vee as she felt his hand at the small of her back, keeping her close.

“... J’ai beaucoup aimé ce temps passé avec toi (I really liked that time spent with you),” he said, his other hand lovingly cupping her cheek.

Vee couldn’t help her grin, leaning into his touch.

“Not bad. You’re not that much of a lost cause with French after all.”

“Let’s just say you’re inspiring me, all of a sudden.”

A quiet chuckle left Vee: “Monsieur Donatello, vous m’en laissez bouche bée (mister Donatello, you’re leaving me speechless).”

They couldn’t stop reading one another, ever leaning so close...

“... I could leave you even more speechless,” murmured the mutant.

In a joined, yet tender motion, it didn’t take long for their lips to meet, Vee helping herself by standing at the tip of her toes. It simply felt so natural... An overdued resolution that was only bound to happen. It was both brief and taking forever, the feeling sending fireworks through them both. They kept close as the kiss ended, Vee’s blush way apparent as she couldn’t stop smiling.

“Well, that’s one good way to end the night,” she said lovingly.

“I wanted to do that for quite some time now...”

“I won’t say no to a second serving, good sir.”

That amused Donnie, indulging himself to a second sweet kiss. He didn’t want to rush anything, keeping it quite simple for the moment. Oh but how did it make him crave for so much more... After they parted once more, Donnie knew he had to leave. They had taken some good steps together, but right now they needed to halt that race... as good as it felt.

“Goodnight, Vee...” he cooed, feeling enamored.

“Goodnight, Donnie. I’ll dream of you...,” sweetly added Vee.

“Then I shall meet you in mine as well.”

It’d be quite pleasant, indeed.

((Part 7))